غزل شمارهٔ 35

A sinner proud am I; no need I take, except I work for it; I rage, because men say He writ predestinate my wilful deed.

The surge of drunkenness and love hath lifted up my thoughts, to where the world-illuming sun doth stare amazed upon me as I rove.

From the first dawn my hand was made artist of whirlpool and wavecrest, and when the ocean lies at rest of the typhoon I gather aid.

A hundred times before this day I set the universe afire; its peace and health destroys entire the ardent music that I play.

Before the idols I have danced and bound the girdle about me, till, thundering at my blasphemy, the city sheikh is God-entranced!

Anon they leap from me away, anon they follow in my train, for no man knoweth in this plain whether I hunter am, or prey.

Of Supermen’s society naught gains the heart that’s not aglow: Bring me thy molten brass and, lo! My elixir shall work in thee.