Every Night You free our spirits from the
body's snare and erase all impressions on
the tablets of memory.
Our Spirits are set free every night from
this cage, they are done with audience and
talk and tale.
At night prisoners forget their prison,
at night governors forget their power.
There is no sorrow, no thought of gain or loss,
no idea of this person or that person.
Such is the state of the mystic,
even when he is not asleep.
God says, "You imagine them awake while
they slept."
He is asleep, day and night,
to the affairs of this world.
like a pen in the hand of the lord.
God has shown forth some part of his state,
inasmuch as the vulgar too
are carried away by sleep:
Their spirits one into the Wilderness
that is beyond words, their souls and
bodies at rest.
Till with a whistle You call them back
to the snare, bring them all again to
justice and judgment.
At daybreak, like israfil,
He bids them return from yonder
to the world of form:
The disembodied spirits He confines anew
and causes each body to be laden
with its good and evil works.
