In the heart lies a blocked spring longing to flow:
Feeling can reveal what the mind will never know.
Intellect dresses the truth in gaudy clothes,
but beauty is veracious like an opening rose.
Bliss is sweet water shaded from the cruel sun,
while hot reason gets sun stroke and is undone.
How long this anguish of swallowing our thought,
to relieve the parched pain of love’s long drought?
Only the Perfect Master can strip the mind free
of pretension, and reveal soul’s innate purity.
The naked waters of truth will slake my thirst,
when all desire is derided as an ugly curse.
The angry sun beats down on this desert march,
as Darvish’s song rises in his desperate search.
