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The Passion of Loving

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.

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