Book in this metre
This page shows only poems in the metre مستفعلن مستفعلن مستفعلن مستفعلن (رجز مثمن سالم).
What excuses have you to offer, my heart, for so many shortcomings? Such constancy on the part of the Beloved, such unfaithfulness on your own!
O lovers, lovers, this day you and we are fallen into a whirlpool: who knows how to swim?
Today I beheld the beloved, that ornament of every affair; he went off departing to heaven like the spirit of Mus.t.af¯a.
Every instant a revelation from heaven comes to men’s innermost souls: “How long like dregs do you remain upon earth? Come up!”
O lovers, lovers, the time of union and encounter has come. The proclamation from heaven has come: “Moon-faced beauties, welcome hither!”
Since midnight sickness has manifested itself in that Master; till daybreak he has been beating his head uncontrollably against our wall.
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.