In Its Wake

Now the heart is flowing like the many springs,
Run through the mountains in the monsoon of love.
Lush with the greenness of countless blades of grass,
The austere mountains lose their austerity.

Like the flowing water, the solid mass becomes fluid,
As if an ocean is moving from the earth to the sky,
Leaving in its wake a beautiful frothy pattern of waves,
Pure, clear, as the white in a child's expectant eyes.
Such joy resonates from the being,
That the whole world is reduced to a mere view from the top of a mountain peak...

The Song of the Sufi Masroof