in the ruins

Outside-monuments, civilizations,
lie collapsed, destroyed

Logic drowns in a whirlpool of distractions
And the pleasure of absolute freedom
is found only in madness

Oh devout one, don’t wonder vainly through the mosque,
hunting God’s blessing
This divine gift is found only in the wine-house

Let the nightingale abandon its claims, in its heart
there is no true sacrifice
The only trace of love found is in the burning
destruction of the moth

I revealed my heart’s agony, my truth,
and that infidel smiled
“Now what’s happened to Esrar?” she said,
“He’s reciting crazy tales, these poems!”

Esrar Dede

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