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Love’s Ascension

The burnt up ones are occupied with flames and smoke;

          the cupbearer and wine drinkers are huddled together.

The hearts in their breasts — vats of wine bubbling but silent — 

          are like the world-revealing cup of Jamshid.

Like moths, all are circling the candle’s flame,

          they are blissful, without words or desire.

The fire of Unity blazed up and consumed their awareness 

          of “I” and “we,” which is not allowed near.

O cupbearer, the tavern is running out of wine

          though seemingly wine-worshipers are few.

Pass around the goblet, for in this gathering

          there are no jinn or angels; all are children of Adam.

All are thoroughly drunk and unconscious,

          freed from thoughts about profit and loss.

None among this throng is sober;

          these are the wayfarers of love.

In one direction, with one breath, unified, all are intermingled, 

          intermixed, and dissolved into one another.

They are effaced from themselves, so only the One is manifest;

          now all subsist through the One.

Even that has passed from view;

          they are unconscious, traceless and intangible.

No sign at all of anyone can be found;

          they are beyond this relative realm.

Purer than heart, lighter than spirit,

          they traverse without feet and steps.

Grasp the hems of their robes, Nurbakhsh,

          for they are a salve for the wounds of a burned heart.

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