Translated from the Persian by Haleh Liza Gafori
Go ahead, Lord, break our harp.
We have thousands upon thousands of harps.
We’ve fallen into Love’s arms.
We’re torn by Love’s claws.
We’re carried by Love’s music.
Who cares if we lose a harp or flute?
And if every instrument in the world burns to ash?
No matter.
The heart’s hidden instruments play on.
Their resonance—their rhythm and shimmer—
rise up to the circling stars,
whether or not ears are tuned to hear.
Say every candle, every flickering lamp dies out.
No reason to despair.
Within us, we carry the flint and steel to spark a flame.
Driftwood floats on waves. Music floats on air.
Hidden in the depths of the ocean, pearls shine.
We hear their dazzling echo.
Longing for union, melodies branch out
to reach the root of all.
Close your mouth.
Open the window in your heart.
That’s how you hear spirits sing.
That’s how you answer back.
