غزل شمارهٔ 2117

Come nearer, my pretty idol, my sympathetic idol of like hue with me.

See how my heart has become constricted with your coquettishness, till you say to me, “O my suffering one!”

I battle with my heart as with an enemy till you say, “Bravo, my general!”

How long will you ask, “Why is this face of yours pale?” It is through grieving for you, my rose-hued idol.

Last night all night to Venus reached the lamenting of this lyre-shaped body of mine.

Purchase back my soul from my body, that my soul may escape my shame.

Through the grace of your ruby lips my stonelike heart has become a banker of gold.

Accord peace to my soul and to me, for all my war is on your account.

My foot becomes swifter going than the wind, if you say, “Come, my lame one!”

For this reason I am bound and suspended from you, that my rope [of grapes] through you may become like sugar.

You are indifferent to me, and I am miserable; oh, what shall I become if you desire me?

The Zangi of grief is at the door of happiness of Rum; ransom my Rum from my Zang.

I fear not the untimeliness and the distance of the way; through you my parasang has become half a foot.

My old age has become better than childhood, my wrinkled face has become fresh again.

Be silent, be bewildered as silent ones, so that he may say to you, “My silent and bewildered one!”