|I'm not at home here, |
here in this place of distraction.
What am I doing here,
how Did I get on this hard road ?
Even a moment, a pinching
Second from the Beloved's
Side is outlawed by Love's code.
If only this strange neighborhood
Had a hint of him-by God
that would be a feast for me.
How can a finch, the size
of a thumbprint slip away from
This place, even the Simurgh
Proud pilgrim is tied by the loot.
Don't slide my heart, don't
Feint truth, keep your pristine
Place where a column of light
Grows fat on your steady pulse.
Choose a plum flush with golden
Juice rearing life, taste on your
Tongue only the musk of vintage.
Treat aroma, devious image
Playing upside down in the eye.
The cast of colors taking a bow.
For what they are: players, ghosts.
Insubstantial, carping things to
Displace you with shame and strife.
Collect the eye, take a holiday
from your tongue, disestablish
the senses and compose yourself.
For you are pressing on the abyss.
from Words of Paradise
translations by Raficq Abdulla