The dawn of your face shone above the horizon;
the rays of your countenance beamed forth.
Why not drum out: “Am I not your Lord?”
The drum of our hearts would reply, “Verily, Thou art!”
Since the time contrapuntal to the drum of His “Am I not?”
their hearts in their love did beat out “Yea, verily!”
beside the gate of my heart did they pitch their tents,
these troops of sorrows, these armies of adversity.
When He heard the lamentation at my death,
He went to retrieve my meager possessions,
Then He hurried to my side and cried for me
and with a loud and piercing voice.
How nice it would be if you strike the summit of the Túr of my heart
with the blazing fire of wonderment?
Have you not already excavated and pounded it,
leveled it and trembled it?
The angelic hosts of cherubim are heard each night
hearkening all to his love feast,
trumpeting this Divine Command:
“Hasten forth, O sorrowing friends!”
Truly the love of that beauteous Moon suffices me,
He who, when God called to Him “Yea, verily!”
became filled with laughter and delight,
calling out boldly, “Behold, I am the martyr of Karbilá!”
You, who are but a speck on the leviathan of wonderment,
do you dare speak about the sea of existence itself?
At every moment be like Táhirih — remain still and listen,
hear the whale roar: “There is no God but God!”