Everything you possess of skill, and wealth, and handicraft,
wasn't it first merely a thought and a quest?

Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.

A wealth you cannot imagine
flows through you.
Do not consider what strangers say.
Be secluded in your secret heart-house,
that bowl of silence.

Shams, my body is a candle touched with fire.

For the thirst to possess your love,
Is worth my blood a hundred times.

No more words. In the name of this place we drink in with our breathing, stay quiet like a flower.
So the nightbirds will start singing.