To the Wanderer

Sweet is the nectar that pours from the sky, divine its essence,

Where words crumble, music fades, this world so real, disappears,

Something deep inside is stirring, jolted, awoken from slumber,

It has no face, not even a name,

Intense is this force that burns the sky of consciousness in flames.

It’s the source, from which the river of life flows,

Gentle and mellow, runs its course,

Spilling its soul to the wanderer, thirsting, aching to get to His shore.

The Song of the Sufi Masroof