Drowned in the ocean of tracelessness,
I am oblivious to self,
with no concern for created beings.
What can trouble me now?
It has been a while since, through remembering Him,
I became estranged from self;
neither sting nor salve
can affect my state.
On the plane of madness
the heart has no creed.
Why then do these sensible people
still ask about my faith?
My Beloved plundered my heart and soul;
I now have nothing left.
So why still ask me
how much I possess?
If the Sweetheart plucks
the strings of madness,
it is only to soothe
my wounded heart.
O Nurbakhsh, the Beloved relentlessly
spilt our blood,
that He might say,
“I still remember the yearning dervishes.”