Book in this metre
This page shows only poems in the metre مفعول فاعلات مفاعیل فاعلن (مضارع مثمن اخرب مکفوف محذوف).
O Sufi! come; for bright is the mirror of the cup: That thou mayst see the brightness of the wine of ruby hue.
Saki! with the light of wine, up-kindle the cup of ours. Minstrel! speak, saying: “The world’s work hath gone to the desire of ours.”
With a single hair of its, a thousand hearts, the tress bound, The path of a thousand remedies bound.
To him that hath chosen solitude, of the spectacle is what need? When the street of the Beloved is, of the desert is what need?
Of the cypress and the pine, what need hath my garden? Our box-tree nurtured in the shade, is less than who?
Of a great favor from the threshold of the Friend, hope mine is; A great sin I have done; of His pardon hope mine, is.
That envoy, who arrived from the country of the Friend; And brought the amulet of life from the dark writing of the Friend.
Thy face, none hath seen; and a thousand watchers are Thine, Still in the rosebud, Thine many a nightingale is.
More pleasant than the pleasure and the enjoyment of the garden and the spring is what? Where is the Said? Say: “The cause of our waiting is what?”
Love’s path is Path whereof the shore is none: And there, unless they surrender their soul, remedy is none.
Thou sawest that, save the desire of violence and of tyranny, my beloved aught had not. He shattered the covenant; and, on account of our grief, grief had not.
O Saki! bring wine; for the fasting month hath passed. Give the goblet; for the season of name and fame hath passed.
Saki! come; for the true Beloved hath taken up the veil, The work of the lamp of the Khilvatis again kindled.
By concord with darkish beauty, the world Thy beauty took. Yes; by concord, the world one can take.
O lapwing of the east wind! to Saba, I send thee: Behold from where to where, I send thee!
O hidden from sight! to God, I entrust, thee. Thou consumedest my soul; yet with heart, friend I hold thee.
Yesterday, the Pir, the wine-seller whose mention be for good! Said: “Drink wine; and, from recollection, take the heart’s grief.”
Last night, the news of the beloved, journey-made, gave the wind: To the wind, I also give my heart. Whatever it be-be.
The Sufi laid the snare; and open, the cover of his box, made. With the sky sorcery-playing, the structure of deceit, he made.
On her path, I laid my face; and by me passing, she made not. I hoped for a hundred kindnesses; yet one glance, she made not.
The Heart-Ravisher departed; and hint to those heart-gone made not: Of the companion of the city; and of the friend of the journey, recollection He made not.
O thou whose pistachio, laugheth at the tale of candy! I am desirous. For God’s sake, one sweet smile, smile.
If lawful the need of profligates, the wine-seller maketh, His sin, God forgiveth; and, repelling of calamity maketh.
Those Mursheds, who, with their glance alchemy of the dust make, At us, eye-cornering, do they make?
I said: “Me, prosperous, Thy mouth and lip, when do they make?” He said: “By my eye whatever thou sayest even so do they make.”
Thou knowest what tale that the harp and the lyre make? Secretly drink ye wine that thee precious they may make.
