top of page
Through love, I have reached a place
where no trace of love remains,
where “I” and “we” and the image of existence
have all been forgotten in yearning.
Where am I now? Who can know anything,
here where no knowledge, no judgment can be found?
In His presence, even love is bewildered
and the intellect is crazy, talking nonsense.
I am just a traceless dervish:
helpless and without self,
free from concern about fidelity or harshness,
a stranger to family and acquaintances.
Only for this can I still be blamed —
that a cry comes from within me:
out of regret for Nurbakhsh, I say,
“You have gone, and I don’t know where you are.”
bottom of page