I have loved in life and I have been loved.
I have drunk the bowl of poison from the hands of love as nectar,
and have been raised above life's joy and sorrow.
My heart, aflame in love, set afire every heart that came in touch with it.
My heart has been rent and joined again;
My heart has been broken and again made whole;
My heart has been wounded and healed again;
A thousand deaths my heart has died, and thanks be to love, it lives yet.
I went through hell and saw there love's raging fire,
and I entered heaven illumined with the light of love.
I wept in love and made all weep with me;
I mourned in love and pierced the hearts of men;
And when my fiery glance fell on the rocks, the rocks burst forth as volcanoes.
The whole world sank in the flood caused by my one tear;
With my deep sigh the earth trembled,
and when I cried aloud the name of my beloved,
I shook the throne of God in heaven.
I bowed my head low in humility,
and on my knees I begged of love,
"Disclose to me, I pray thee, O love, thy secret."
She took me gently by my arms and lifted me above the earth,
and spoke softly in my ear,
"My dear one, thou thyself art love, art lover,
and thyself art the beloved whom thou hast adored."
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Vadan, Talas
| The Dimensions of the Heart
Man's ideal shows the height of his heart;
Man's understanding shows the depth of his heart;
Man's perception shows the length of his heart;
Man's sympathy shows the breadth of his heart.
But the fourth dimension of man's heart is seen by all that it contains within itself.
Nirtan, Alankaras
| The Heart
The heart has its head on its own palm,
The face of the heart is veiled;
The heart's hands are bound with iron chains,
The feet of the heart are nailed.
The eyes of the heart are never dry,
The heart speaks only through tears.
The ears of the heart are so keen
That the voice from a distance it hears.
The voice of the heart is silent,
Yet far-reaching is heart's cry.
The heart has no question nor answer,
The heart is expressed in a sigh.
The ways of the heart are mysterious,
The heart has the mind of a child.
The heart's breath is full of tenderness,
The heart's expression is mild.
The ideal alone is heart's deity,
A constant yearning its life.
The heart's not concerned with life or death,
The heart stands firm through all strife.
Beauty is heart's only object,
Its inspirer, its all.
The heart is all power that there is,
The angels attend its call.
The heart is itself its own medicine,
The heart all its own wounds heals.
And none can ever imagine
The pain that the loving heart feels.
The path of the heart is thorny,
But leads in the end to bliss.
Hope is the staff the heart holds in hand,
And the goal heart shall not miss.
| Commentary
This poem summarizes Hazrat Inayat Khan's teaching about the heart.
It describes all four dimensions of the heart.
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