These days, my thoughts keep returning to a hill in Üsküdar. There, above the clamor and bustle of the port, is stillness. There, the student who used to rise during the coldness of the night to pour warm water for his teacher came to teach. There, near his resting place, Mercy descends.
It is there, the dear guide must have penned his Nivahend — He who seeks that sign of Beauty.
Hearts that tell that Beauty’s story
cherish things past speech itself.
Every man that knows that glory
shuns his self, then shuns his self.
Truely, his was a shunning of the self. May his soul and that of his teacher be sanctified.
By The One Free from Want, this is Meziana.