In the heart of the selfless there is room
only for the Beloved;
in the Sufi’s retreat there is no room
for anyone else.
When the space of the heart
fills with love,
no stranger can be seen,
there is no room for others.
O mullah, in the banquet of madness
don’t boast of your intellect;
in the circle of the drunk,
there is no room for the sober.
The lover’s book contains no mention
of states and stations,
or talk of adab; there is no room
for secrets.
In the religion of the people of the heart,
litany and prayer express self-existence;
where no desire exists, there is no room
for insistence.
In that lane where heads roll,
there is no “I” and “we”;
a chief would be out of place,
there is no room for a commander.
Light will be bestowed upon you the moment
you cease to exist;
in the darkness of “I” and “we”
there is no room for light.