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To me the heart is a sheikh who teaches me,
And I am the child who understands his language.
When I bow my head I pay him my fee,
When I put my head on my knees I attend his school.
Not on every knee his school can be found;
Not all moments are tablets to receive his words.
Not every sea hides shells,
Not every drop is an April shower.
Kneeling down is only a school,
Like Noah's Ark, to him
Whose sorrow is a frothing Flood,
To whom Ararat is a heaven.
However, to him who, once,
Enters this school be kneeling down,
The Ararat will not be higher than his ankle-bone,
The Flood will not reach his shank.
No one qualifies for this school
Unless he has a sorrow so great that,
With each breath he inhales, four Floods
Invade the four elements of his body.
The school of kneeling down is meant
Especially for those men who, being lions,
Like a dog shy away behind a knee
From all the agitation among men. (en) |
