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If I have fixed my gaze constantly
in Your direction,
it was because of the passion for madness
that I had learnt.
In the face of Your flirtatious rejections
I, a needy dervish,
made You a gift of my entire savings:
my heart and my soul.
A moth found me transfixed
by Your candle’s flame;
the poor creature knew not
that I had burnt away.
All my life I kept the candle of the intellect
alight on Your path.
As soon as love arrived
it was snuffed out,
And the patched cloak of union with You
that I had stitched together
with passion’s needle
was torn into a hundred pieces.
You pardoned Nurbakhsh
and chose him
long before he sold himself
to You.
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