Ghazal No. 4

I have this odd complaint against my seeing eyes: When You unveil Yourself, my sight acts as a veil.

From me, a creature of mere clay, tell creatures of light this: Beware a pinch of dust which is aware of its identity.

We sing and burn in spring’s assembly hall. Our morning song has set our wings aflame.

How can one who has lost himself know where my songs come from? My world is not his world.

I fell in a nook of the garden, bleeding like a tulip. A dart from someone’s eyes struck at my heart.

In living men’s creed life is a pursuit of hardships. I have not visited the Ka‘bah. Why not? Because the journey is so safe.

Untold assemblies have been organised, only to be dissolved, in this small halting-place illumined by the moon.

Arise and make a man out of the dust you are. The time allowed to you is only the duration of a spark.

Assuming you are not a man of lust, let me give you a tip: Love gathers strength from plaints that go without effect.

My song has relit old fires in Persia, but Arabia is still a stranger to my ardent lays.