The world of love and revelry
knows no security or rest;
its pain, sorrow and affliction
are without wailing and sighs.
It is a wondrous realm,
beyond both worlds.
Space can’t contain it;
it has no boundaries, no shores.
In that realm “we” and “I”
are never mentioned.
There is no wisdom or intellect,
neither speech nor exposition.
Whoever is familiar with that realm
becomes estranged from self;
wherever he goes, he is a stranger,
without trace or name.
His heart is freed from all things;
indeed he is unconscious of self.
In this place, the thought of being
or non-being brings only loss.
The madman of God’s path
is considered the master of intellect,
and though he is the very soul of the soul,
he has no concern for the soul.
Since Nurbakhsh gambled
and lost everything in love,
he has no expectation of friendship
from anyone.