Makyarim

My heart tells me it is distressed with Him, but I can only laugh at such pretended injuries.

Be fair, You who are the Glory of the just. You, Soul, free of "we" and "I,"subtle spirit within each man and woman.

When a man and a woman become one, that "one" is You. And when that one is obliterated, there You are.

Where is this "we" and this "I"? By the side of the Beloved. You made this "we" and this "I" in order that you might play this game of courtship with Yourself, that all "you's" and "I's" might become one soul and finally drown in the Beloved.

All this is true. Come! You who are the Creative Word: Be You, so far beyond description.

Is it possible for the bodily eyes to see You? Can thought comprehend Your laughter or grief? Tell me now, can it possibly see You at all? Such a heart has only borrowed things to live with.

The garden of love is green without limit and yields many fruits other than sorrow or joy. Love is beyond either condition: without spring, without autumn, it is always fresh.

Rumi