top of page

The Matrix of Thought

From the matrix of thought

          we have washed away the desire for You,

never to imagine

          communion with You.

You and I united!

          It is an impossible hope, I know.

By one’s own feet, no one can traverse

          the path to You.

You, the lover of Your own face,

          are the Beloved.

How then, can anyone but You

          drink up Your jug of wine?

The heart that truly loves You

          is none other than You;

in temperament and nature,

          Your lovers resemble You.

In the creed of love, Your hair

          is the veil covering Your face;

that veil can’t be brushed aside

          with the hand of self.

Our tongues do not describe You

          as You really are;

better they were cut off

          than disgrace Your name.

Not freed from the vanity

          of outward color and scent,

we are drunk from “I” and “you.”

          How then can we still crave Your fragrance?

Entangled in the bonds of creation and space,

          imprisoned in dimensions,

it is only out of heedlessness

          that we keep searching for You.

Nurbakhsh, do not think

          about the fountain of the sun,

for a wave from the ocean of fana

          has washed you away.

bottom of page