غزل شمارهٔ 246

A hundred drums are being beaten within our hearts, the roar of which we shall hear tomorrow.

Cotton wool in the ear, hair in the eye—that is the anxiety for tomorrow, the subtle whisper of grief;

Fling Love’s flame into this cotton wool, like H. all¯aj and like the people of purity.

Why do you keep fire and cotton wool together? These two are opposites, and the opposite never survived.

Since the encounter of Love is near, be joyous of presence for the day of meeting.

For us, death is gladness and encounter; if for you it is an occasion of mourning, depart hence!

Inasmuch as this present world is our prison, the ruining of prisons is surely a cause for joy.

He whose prison was so delightful—how shall be the court of Him who adorned the world?

Look not for constancy in this prison, for herein constancy itself never kept faith.