غزل شمارهٔ 1131

He said, “My sugar-sweet lip is worth a treasure of pearls.” “Ah, I have no pearls.” He said, “You have not? Then buy!

Make a snare for me out of pearls, and if that does not succeed, then borrow. You have mistaken the house, you lover without silver and gold!

You have come to a gambling-match; bring a purse full of gold. Else, leave us and be gone, do not vex and trouble us more.

We are highwaymen, we are renders of garments; if you are one of us, come in, drink and drink deep!

We tear to shreds all snares, we devour all properties; we are sweeter than all others—despite all the blind and deaf.”

Those who buy garments are different from those who rend them; those who rend garments pluck out the mustachios of every garment-buyer.

The Moses of the soul plucked out the mustachios of the Pharaoh of the body, so that the body becomes all soul, every hair-tip alive.

Recognize the travellers on the path of his love by their pallid cheeks; know that the pearls of love are tears, love’s silk the heart’s blood.

What is the worth of the gold-pale cheek? Say: the ruby of the Beloved. What is the worth of the pearl-like tear? Say: that glance.

We are slaves to that saki, till eternity we continue; our world is secure and content, the worldlings are passing by.

Whoever has been born has died and committed his soul to the guardian angel; the lover was born of no man, love has no father.

If you are not of this face, then sit behind like the nape; if you are not the nape, then advance like a shield.

Advance like a shield unconscious, and behold how the conscious ones are struck unconscious by the glance of the Friend’s blow.