غزل شمارهٔ 45

How sweet it is to give speech and head, to converse with his lip, especially when he opens the door and says, “Good sir, come in!”

To the dry lip he tells the story of the fountain of Khidar; according to the stature of the man the tailor of his love cuts the gown.

The fountains become drunken through the intoxication of his eye; the trees are dancing before the gentle breeze of dawn.

The nightingale says to the rosebush, “What is in your heart? Declare it this instant. No other is near; only you and I.”

The rosebush answers, “So long as you are with yourself, entertain not this ambition. Make a special effort to transport the burden of your selfhood out of this earthly abode.”

The eye of the needle of passion is narrow; know for a certainty that it will not admit any thread when it perceives it to be of double strand.

Behold how the sun is up to the throat in fire, so that through its face the face of the earth may become full of light.

When Moses proceeded towards the burning bush, the bush said, “I am the water of Kauthar; take off your shoes, and come!

Do not fear my fire, for I am water and sweet at that; you have come to prosperity; the seat of honour is yours, welcome!

You are a pearl of pure lustre, a ruby of the mine, the soul of place and placelessness; you are the nonpareil of the age; where are other creatures beside you?”

Through love’s hand, every hand becomes the royal court of munificence; through you, the faithless world becomes the factory of fidelity.

At the first hour of day you came, in your hand the royal bowl; you are drawing my soul towards the feast, saying, “Welcome!”

What becomes of the heart, when the heart’s hand grasps the hand of a sweetheart? What becomes of the dross copper, when it hears the welcoming voice of the philosopher’s stone?

A wondrous darling came, in his hand a lance, like a bedouin. I said, “What service can I render?” He said, “Come up to me!”

My heart leaped, saying, “Shall I run?” My reason said, “Shall I go?” Generously he signaled, saying, “Yes, both of you!”

Since the table has come down from heaven, wash your hands and your mouth too, that there may not proceed from your palms the odour of onions and chives.

The mine of salt has arrived; take heed, if you are goodly and a lover. Seize the bowl, and give the cup; choose riot, not broth!

Now I close these two lips, so that the lamp of day and night even with the flame of the tongue may tell you the whole story.