O You Who’ve Gone on Pilgrimage

O you who've gone on pilgrimage—
              where are you, where, oh where?
Here, here is the Beloved!
              Oh come now, come, oh come!
Your friend, he is your neighbor,
            he is next to your wall—
You, erring in the desert—
              what air of love is this?
If you'd see the Beloved's
              form without any form—
You are the house, the master,
              You are the Kaaba, you! . . .
Where is a bunch of roses,
              if you would be this garden?
Where, one soul's pearly essence
              when you're the Sea of God?
That's true—and yet your troubles
              may turn to treasures rich—
How sad that you yourself veil
              the treasure that is yours!