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The Cane of Heresy

Don’t wonder how it will turn out —

reason will surrender to madness.

All awareness will leave my head;

my heart will bleed at Your hands.

If love were to rattle the chains

the age-old cosmos would be humbled.

Your flirtation brings turmoil to all,

bewitching both drunken and sober.

Whoever sees Your alef-like loftiness will bend down

like dal — no — will sink even lower, like nun.

The banner of Your love shall be raised high;

the cane that accuses of heresy shall be cast down.

Nurbakhsh sat by himself, away from everyone;

now, he shall leave himself, too.

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