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Desolate one, when will you see the radiant garden again?
Keep the garden of your heart holy, cloistered within you,
like the caged bird who, forgetting that she ever flew or heard
wild songs or unfurled her wings, makes the cage her world.
Heart, held within the net of love, you need not fear the
agony of separation — you’re already one with Love.
We wait, sadly, craving the sight of the Beloved’s face.
Then our hearts give way to hope for Resurrection.
Heart, be faithful the way a Brahman sadhu is faithful. He
wears his wasted body’s knotted veins like a sacred thread.
What is a lover’s fate? What happens to such a social misfit?
Thrilled by its idle ignorance, the world persecutes him.
Why complain these heavy chains drag on your ankles? You’ve
learned to bear your pain; it suits you well to wear such weights.
Soothe your grief, relieve your soul: weep like one who is tired
of life and despairs of love and welcomes Death as kindness.
Walking barefoot on this thorny path, your feet have bruised and bled.
Touched by your blood, this wilderness blooms like a fragrant rose.
Love, shall I complain about the hangman’s noose I tie around my neck at your
command? No, if it adds to your glory, I’m proud no matter what my pain.
Makhfi, if your fate is to dwell in desolation outside the garden, don’t worry. Life
is a dream. We who seem to live, move, love — we’re merely shadows on a wall.
