غزل شمارهٔ 2788

“Ah, from those lightning-casting, sweet, mischievous cheeks! A thunderbolt from its lightning has fallen on the soul of every helpless one!”

When before the row of pearls and rubies shone like fire, a sea of pearls surged out of the rock.

This heart torn into a hundred pieces gave a piece to the doorkeeper of the soul; when he emerged in the heart of the curtain, it became a better piece.

Paradise is divided into eight heavens, and one like a scroll; behold the eight scrolls contained in a sheet of a cheek.

What kind of bird is this heart of mine, kneeling like a camel, or fire-eating like an ostrich around a blaze!

Quarry of joy, this heart of mine shared the same shop with your love; it found a fine colleague and fellow-worker in that shop.

Through the sun of your love, the motes of the souls have become like the moon, and every moment a star of felicity comes into the sky.

Your form is invisible, yet relates every detail—like the Messiah through the light of Mary, the spirit of God in the cradle.

Shams-i Tabr¯ız¯ı, what inconsistency is there in the heart’s states, at once abiding in love and fugitive from love?