Book in this metre
This page shows only poems in the metre مفاعلن فعلاتن مفاعلن فعلن (مجتث مثمن مخبون محذوف).
Did I not say to you, “Go not there, for I am your friend; in this mirage of annihilation I am the fountain of life?”
Bring wine, for I am suffering crop sickness {hang-over} from the vintner; God has seized me, and I am thus held fast.
What hidden sweetness there is in this emptiness of the belly! Man is surely like a lute, no more and no less;
By your own life I implore, do not withdraw from this heartless wretch; suffer me still, do not make for your house.
If my words were not worthy of your lips, then pick up a heavy stone and shatter my mouth.
The sun has risen from the depths of the water, hear L¯a il¯aha illa ’ll¯ah from every mote.