I will not turn my heart from You,
for You’re the source of my joy.
While You are present,
I am unaware of myself.
In myself, I am nothing
but darkness.
You are my light; You are the being
of my visible form.
Evidence for my existence lies in
my closeness or distance from You.
Yet now that I cease to exist,
You become my closeness, my distance.
Where are You not present that I should
need to seek You out?
Whichever path I take
You are there along the way.
Sama is the practice of lovers
in separation:
with every breath, You bestow sustenance
and rapture.
I’ve sold paradise, with all its palaces and virgins,
for a grain of barley;
You are my paradise,
my palaces and virgins.
Erase the notebook of knowledge —
then, like Nurbakhsh, say,
“O my Beloved, You are my holy scripture,
the Book of Psalms that I sing.”