I have pawned my Sufi cloak
at the tavern.
I gave up my heart
to my beloved.
Don’t ask me why there is “much of this”
and “little of that” in this world;
however little or much I had
I gave up on the Friend’s path.
Don’t ask me to answer
the arguments of reason;
I left this debate
to the sober folk.
In the district of love
there remains neither faith nor unbelief;
I left this bait and trap
to the customers who deal in such wares.
The passion of loving
expelled “I” and “we”;
in this affair,
I gave up all I possessed or could possess.
You ask me who I am? Nothing.
What do I want? Nothing.
I have left my fate
in the Beloved’s hands.
Last night, with Nurbakhsh,
I drank from love’s cup,
then pawned him too
at the tavern.