Chapter XXXVIII

I am no singer rapt in ecstasy, Nor yet a sighing listener am I, I am the nightingale that used to sing In joy, but now am mute, remembering.

I know the drop within the ocean hides, But know not in what place my soul abides: I cannot read the hidden mystery-- Whence came I, whither go I, what am I.

My friends have paid due reverence at my grave, And held my dust as sacred, for I gave My humble life to the Beloved's sword, Killed by her beauty, martyred by her word.

I deemed life was tranquillity and rest, I find it but a never-ending quest; And I, who sat in quietude and peace, Toil on a journey that shall never cease.

SHAMSHAD.