A Poem of Sanctity

My God, the soul You have placed in me is pure.

You blew in my nostrils and I became a living soul.

How wonderful is Your love, for beauty and for light.

My lips are too villainous to speak fairly of it,

And my Creator has fashioned me, I am still budding.

My soul is desperate, a wound within my heart,

I delight to serve Him, for He is my Father

And I so desire Him, and He desires me.

He is generous, and there is much work,

And I am a learned man, destined for redemption,

As befits the queen, with faith and duty.

Indeed, He pushed me and my heart is torn.

My soul is as a wheel, turning on its hinge.

From its end and onward, it will not move at all.

Its sunlight shone beyond her face,

And since then, of all her wishes, she is worse.

A hidden hand shattered my bones,

And I became ignoble and became two camps.

One obeyed the orders of my corpse,

And the rest follow my soul.

Indeed, my body knows no lust from them,

For they did not honor its God with delight.

Like a bewildered eunuch, it is deprived of love,

Its labor leaves it and it does not know.

One who eats with it from the cakes of my lust,

From the wonders of love, the revealing of the concealed,

Or lustful words from my nectar and potion,

Will hush me with mockery, “What will the people say?”

It is he who will never taste of my pleasantness,

And I, where will I turn? To His delights,

And he, too, was added to my troubles,

To anger me with his rage and with his blows.

On the day of relief, he will still not give me a blessing,

Rather, his mockery of me will be as plentiful as locusts.

Why walk in the clouds and be so troubled,

For you will surely burn as a flame.

If time has been kind and has turned to you,

Together, they did not know you or your dreams.

For in degradation they encounter you at every corner,

One will spit in your face, and one will pull out your hair.

Kabbalah Media