The light of his eyes kindles in my heart a flame,
which I nurture with the breath of his holy name.
This body is the alembic from which spirit
rises and rises to condense and fall in shame.
Millions of times spirit rises to be released,
to become body yet again in earthly blame.
The Master’s fire forges the philosopher’s stone
by the breath that continuously breathes his name.
The Master’s touch is the compassionate grace
that frees spirit from the body’s ancient claim.
Try and try to remember again and again
that only because of love can you play this game.
O Darvish, do not give up your outrageous hope
that the despair of love will bless you all the same.