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The Candle of Being

People sting me, but for me

          that sting becomes a salve;

this, too, is forgotten

          and passes from my mind.

When my Illuminator, out of compassion,

          shows me His face,

the candle of my being

          becomes snuffed out at once.

“Pay attention,” He says,

          “For I will enter through your door.”

But when He arrives,

          all sense leaves my head.

“Speak up!” He tells me.

          “I will hear what you have to say.”

But my heart and soul

          only listen to His words.

“Why don’t You remove the covering

          from Your face?” I ask.

“Your ‘why’ itself becomes a veil,”

          He replies.

Wait, O Cupbearer,

          there is no need for wine!

The heart is falling in a stupor

          from Your intoxicating eyes.

Nurbakhsh, as long as you are free from

          the thought of other than Him,

people may sting you, but for you

          that sting becomes a salve.

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