Book in this poetic form
This page shows only poems in the Ghazal form.
The bird of my heart has again begun to flutter, the parrot of my soul has begun to chew sugar.
The hour is late, the hour is late, the sun has gone down into the well, the sun of the soul of lovers has entered the seclusion of God.
Fair ones, fair ones, a fair one has gone mad; his bowl has fallen from our roof, he has gone to the madhouse.
Who is that, who is that who makes the breast sorrowful, then when you make complaint before Him, He turns your bitter sweet?
Advice from anyone is never of profit to lovers; love is not the kind of torrent that anyone can dam up.
The springtide of lovers has come, that this dust bowl may become a garden; the proclamation of heaven has come, that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
My Beloved leaves me not so much as to scratch my own head; it is the body of my Beloved that presses me in its breast.