the way of the masters
is thinner than the thinnest.
What blocked Solomon’s way was an ant.
Night and day the lover’s
tears never end,
tears of blood,
remembering the Beloved.
“The lover is outcast and idle,”
they used to tell me.
It happened to me.
I tried to make sense of the Four Books,
until love arrived,
and it all became a single syllable.
You who claim to be dervishes
and to never do what God forbids —
the only time you’re free of sin
is when you’re in His hands.
Two people were talking.
One said, “I wish I could see this Yunus.”
“I’ve seen him,” the other says,
“He’s just another old lover.”