Ghazal No. 3

Our thought is constantly engaged in fashioning new gods. Released from one bond, it entangles itself in another.

Come to the roof-top and remove unhesitatingly Your face’s veil. There is nobody in Your street more eager to see You than I.

I am so jealous of the seeing power of my eyes that I weave with my sight one more veil for Your face.

One look, one flitting smile, one shining tear – other than these there is no pledge of love.

I am proud of my love, which with the grief of separation forged another bond of pain connecting You and me.

In order that your song, O bird of spring, may be more lively, take a little more fire from the sanctuary of my heart.

The harp of the Timurids broke: Its music is alive. It burst forth from another instrument of Samarkand.

Custodian of the Harem, do not admit Iqbal; for he has up his sleeve new idols every day.