The drop grows happy by losing itself in the river.

For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river.

The world is no more than the Beloved's face. And the desire of the One to know its own beauty, we exist.

Consumed by the agony of remembrance The remembrance of night's festive company The one remaining candle flickers and dies.

Whoever can't see the whole in every part plays at blind man's bluff. A wise man tastes the entire Tigris in every sip.

Whereas it is difficult for everything to work out easily, A man cannot even afford to be a human

The object of my worship lies beyond perceptions reach. For those who see, the Ka'ba is a compass, nothing more.