Their Road is thine. Follow. And fare thee well. The epilogue lands with the lightest possible touch and the heaviest possible implication. The poem has just spent twenty chapters telling you about a road that cost almost everyone their life. Now it tells you that road is yours. Attar declines to soften the implication. He does not ask whether you will go. He blesses you and stops. Sufi tradition would call this taslim, a clean handing-over: the teaching has been given, what you do with it is now yours alone, and the master’s farewell is a kind of final freeing of the disciple to walk or not walk on his own feet. Eight centuries on, the address still works. It is to you.