غزل شمارهٔ 143

Yesterday I gave a star a message for you; I said to it, “Deliver my compliments to that one fair as the moon.”

Prostrating myself, I said, “Convey this prostration to that sun who by his burning glow converts hard rocks to gold.”

I opened my breast and showed it the wounds; I said to it, “Bear tidings of me to the Beloved who delights in drinking blood.”

I rocked to and fro to hush the infant of my heart; the infant sleeps when the cradle is rocked.

Give milk to the infant of my heart, deliver us from turning about, you who every moment succour a hundred helpless ones like me.

After all, in the first place the heart’s abode was the city of union; how long will you keep in exile this vagrant heart?

I have relapsed into silence; but to ward off crop-sickness turn about, O saki of the lovers, your vintner eye!