You dance inside my chest, where no one sees you.
O Beloved, where is the Beloved?
Ecstatic Love is an ocean, and the Milky Way is a flake of foam floating on it.
The lovers of God have no religion but God alone.
No one can tell if Iām laughing or weeping. I wonder myself.
Pilgrimage to the place of the wise is to find escape from the flame of separateness.