"Su Kasidesi" (Ode to Water) — most beautiful poem to the Prophet Muhammad.
Do not sprinkle water, oh my eyes, upon the fires burning within my heart;
For water can never extinguish a fire that blazes so fiercely.
I know not if the revolving dome of heaven is naturally sky-blue,
Or if the torrent of tears from my eyes has flooded and covered the sky like an ocean.
It is no wonder if my heart is torn to pieces by the desire of Your sword-like gaze;
For even flowing water, over time, leaves deep cracks and fissures in a stone wall.
My wounded heart speaks of the point of Your arrow with great anxiety;
Just as anyone carrying a deep wound drinks water with utmost care and caution.
Let the gardener give the rose garden away to the flood; let him no longer trouble himself,
For even if he watered a thousand gardens, not a single rose would ever bloom like Your radiant face.
The scribe could never accurately sketch the delicate down upon Your cheek,
Even if dark cataracts fell upon his eyes from staring intensely at the page, just like a leaking reed pen.
What wonder is it if my eyelashes are drenched with tears at the memory of Your cheek?
For the water given to a thorn is never wasted if it is done out of a longing for the rose. What wonder is it if my eyelashes are drenched with tears at the memory of Your cheek?
For the water given to a thorn is never wasted if it is done out of a longing for the rose.
On the day of sorrow, do not withhold the blade of Your gaze from my ailing heart;
For it is a noble and blessed deed to give water to a sick person in the dark of night.
Oh my heart, seek the arrow-tip of the Beloved during this separation to calm my burning desire;
I am desperately parched in this desert; go, and seek water for me just this once.
I am a passionate admirer of Your lips, while the ascetics long for the heavenly fountain of Kewser;
Just as wine delights the drunkard, pure water pleases the sober mind.
Without a moment's pause, water flows continuously toward the garden of Your neighborhood;
It seems that water, too, has fallen deeply in love with that gracefully swaying cypress.
I must turn to dust and block the path of the stream leading to that neighborhood;
Since water is my rival, I shall no longer allow it to enter the sanctuary of the Beloved.
Oh friends, if I should die with the unfulfilled longing to kiss His hand,
Fashion the clay of my grave into a jug, and use it to offer water to the Beloved.
The cypress tree acts stubborn and proud against the humble pleas of the turtledove;
Perhaps water will grasp its hem, fall at its feet, and beg on the bird's behalf.
It seems the rosebud intends to drink the blood of the nightingale through some deception;
May water gently enter the nature of the rose branch and avert this cruelty.
Water has manifested its pure essence and clarity to all the world,
By dedicating itself to following the luminous path of Muhammad the Chosen.
He is the Master of mankind, the ocean of the pearl of divine selection;
His miracles have sprinkled cooling water upon the raging fires of the wicked.
To perpetually renew the brilliance and freshness of the rose garden of prophecy,
He brought forth gushing water from the hard, solid rock by a grand miracle.
His miracle was such a boundless, shoreless ocean in this world
That its waters reached and extinguished thousands upon thousands of the fire-temples of the faithless.
Whoever hears of it bites their finger in utter astonishment:
How He provided water from His very fingers to the thirsty Ansar on the day of dire hardship.
If His friend were to drink deadly snake venom, it would turn into the Elixir of Life;
But if His enemy drinks pure water, it surely transforms into lethal poison.
From every single drop, He caused a thousand oceans of mercy to surge,
When He reached out His hands to sprinkle water upon His rose-like face for ablution.
Longing for lifetimes to reach the dust of His holy feet,
Water wanders aimlessly like a distracted lover, striking its head from stone to stone.
Water longs to drift atom by atom toward the dust of His threshold;
It will never turn back from that holy court, even if it is torn into a thousand separate drops.
Those burdened by sin find their ultimate remedy in repeating His praises;
Just as a hungover soul drinks water to dispel the lingering fumes of wine.
Oh Beloved of Allah! Oh Best of Mankind! I yearn for You intensely;
Just as those with parched lips, burning with thirst, constantly cry out for water.
You are that ocean of miracles and generosity who, on the Night of Ascension,
Sent the dew of Your divine grace to give life and hydration to all stars and planets.
From the fountain of the sun, pure and blessed light flows down at every moment,
Should the architect renewing Your sacred tomb ever stand in need of water.
The fear of hellfire and the flames of grief have cast a burning blaze into my heart;
But I hold firm hope that the cloud of Your infinite generosity will sprinkle water to quench that fire.
Through the blessing of praising You, the words of Fuzûlî have transformed into precious gems;
Just as April rain turns into magnificent, royal pearls when caught by the oyster.
When mankind awakens from the sleep of heedlessness on the Day of Resurrection,
And when the awakened eyes shed torrents of tears out of deep regret and sorrow,
My ultimate hope is that on that Day of Judgment, I shall not be left forsaken;
May the fountain of Your divine presence grant water to me, who is utterly parched for the sight of You.
