May his tears become a clear lake. May reeds sprout between his toes. And among all the poets and nightingales in the Friend's garden, may Yunus hop like a partridge. The people there must suffer. There are no moons or suns there.
Nothing waxes or wanes.
Here we're made of water, earth, fire and air. Reality's own power. Thought is an errand boy, fear a mine of worries. These sighs are love's clothing. Give thanks for His unity.