A Sufi poem

If you go to the garden of the Heart,

You'll have beautiful perfume like a rose.

If you fly to the sky,

Your face will turn into a moon like the angels.



You'll turn into light

Even if He burns you like oil.

You'll become like hair because of grief,

But they'll put you at the head of the table.

Like a candle, you'll illuminate the assemblies.



You'll become a Sultan.

You'll become a supreme sovereignty,

Heaven, and an angel at the door of heaven.

You'll become sky and faith.

You'll turn into a lion

And, at the same time, a gazelle.



You'll leave place.

You'll go to the land of Absence.

You'll separate from yourself.

You'll go alone, walking without riding,

Without feet, like water in the river.



You'll become One like Heart and Soul,

You'll keep appearing even if you are invisible.

You'll become bitter-sweet, like wine.



You'll be free from the qualities

Of wetness and dryness, like Jesus.

You'll pierce the turbulence

And make a road of it.

You'll be free of dimensions;

Every side will become one for you.



You'll be free from desires

And the fancy of your insides.

You'll become empty.

You'll stay alive without breath.

You'll be plunged into the sea of Ya Hu,

And then you'll quit saying, "Ya Hu."



You'll turn sweet into bitter

And hear all, from a distance.

When you reach the ninth level of the sky,

You won't be a curtain to the light.



Be a Sultan with a kingdom.

Reach the height. Become a moon.

How long will you keep searching

By saying, "Coo-coo," like the dove?



You'll become a window for every house.

You'll be a rose garden in every field.

If you leave your self, drop your existence,

You'll become Me without me.



Don't take the lead. Don't brag.

Be joyful, bend your head,

Like a branch of the peach tree.

Smile. Be beautiful.



You won't ask for light.

You won't need your self.

You'll look after

The feeding and care of the poor,

Like the Sultan.

You'll look for darkness, like the moon.



You won't look for Soul;

You'll give Soul.

You'll find a remedy for every ill.

Don't look for salve for your wounds.

You'll be slave for all wounds.



Divan-i Kebir Poem 147 (verse 1938)



[Divan-i Kebir Meter 1

by Nevit O. Ergin]