from Shams Tabrizi

you I choose, of all the world, alone; will you suffer me to sit in grief? my heart is as a pen in your hand, you are the cause if I am glad or melancholy. save what you will, what will have I? save what you show, what do I see? you make grow out of me now a thorn and now a rose; now I smell roses and now pull thorns. if you keep me that, that I am; if you would have me this, I am this. in the vessel where you give color to the soul: who am I, what is my love and hate? you were first, and last you shall be; make my last better than my first.


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