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The Seekers of God

We seekers of God

          are strangers in your world.

You may have wisdom,

          as for us — we are all mad.

We are not like the candle 

          that weeps at the touch of any flame.

We are ablaze from head to toe,

          but laughing like rendan — that is what we are.

Our wings and plumes were scorched

          repeatedly by the Friend’s candle flame.

Yet we stood our ground —

          we are not like that moth.

When the spell of “I” and “we” was broken

          with the rock of madness,

we realized clearly

          that we are both treasure and ruin.

We lost our self-worship

          in the district of idol-worship.

Stop reproaching us, O mullah,

          for living in the idol-temple!

Have you so forgotten the enormity of the covenant

          that you brought the measuring cup?

Don’t you realize that we determine

          the portions? 

O Nurbakhsh, the Cupbearer of the pre-eternal banquet

          pours wine according to each one’s capacity,

until His dregs transform us

          into precious pearls.

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