We’ve come again to that knee of seacoast
no ocean can reach.
Tie together all human intellects.
They won’t stretch to here.
The sky bares its neck so beautifully,
but gets no kiss. Only a taste.
This is the food that everyone wants,
wandering the wilderness, “Please give us
Your manna and quail.”
We’re here again with the Beloved.
This air, a shout. These meadowsounds,
an astonishing myth.
We’ve come into the Presence of the One
who was never apart from us.
When the waterbag is filling, you know
the Water-carrier’s here!
The bag leans lovingly against Your shoulder.
“Without You I have no knowledge,
no way to touch anyone.”
When someone chews sugarcane,
he’s wanting this Sweetness.
Inside this globe the soul roars like thunder.
And now Silence, my strict tutor.
I won’t try to talk about Shams.
Language cannot touch that Presence.
tazmin
ġham tumhārā thā zindagī goyā tum ko khoyā use nahīñ khoyā fart-e-girya se jī na halkā ho bas yahī soch kar nahīñ royā ashk to ashk haiñ sharāb se bhī maiñ ne ye dāġh-e-dil nahīñ dhoyā maiñ vo kisht-e-nashāt kyoñ kāTūñ jis ko maiñ ne kabhī nahīñ boyā aabla aabla thī jaañ phir bhī bār-e-hastī
