16

I am not a pursuer, nor a traveller, I am not a goal, but a narrow track, I am not a harvest, but a thunder-bolt, Born to set fire to straw, buried in the dust.

17

Thy bosom has breath; it does not have a heart; Thy breath has not the warmth and fire of life; Renounce the path of reason; it is a light That brightens thy way; it is not thy Final goal.

18

Pure in nature thou art, thy nature is light; Thou art the star in the firmament; Thou not an eagle of the King of Men, Thy preys are the nymphs and the angels bright.

19

They no longer have that passionate love— Muslims are drained of blood. The rows are uneven, the hearts adrift, the prostration joyless— All this because the inner feeling is dead!

20

Conquer the world with the power of selfhood, And solve the riddle of the universe; Be intimate with thy shores, like the sea, But avoid the surf around the boundless deep.