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O Ravisher of hearts! You accept me,

          but why do You want me disgraced?

You pull my heart with Your braids,

          but why in every direction?

Each moment, in a different way, You defeat

          contenders at love’s backgammon;

I have lost my self from the very first,

          why do You seek to defeat me yet again?

In love’s market place

          I closed my eyes to all existence;

since this is a clear gain,

          what more should I want?

You want the mansion of the heart

          emptied of strangers and for Yourself alone.

Why then have You become

          a companion to all?

Having told us that only the believer’s heart

          is Your throne,

why, then, do You display Your beauty unconcerned

          upon every wall, through every door?

And if, O Nurbakhsh, the stranger’s ears

          can’t hear the speech of the soul,

why, then, do you create

          such a commotion?

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