غزل شمارهٔ 1317

Look at that false prince with his little horse and little saddle, knavish and scoundrelly, his head bound in cloth of gold;

Since he disbelieves in death, he says, “Where, where is doom?” Death comes to him from all six directions and says, “Here am I!”

Doom says to him, “Donkey, where now is all that galloping about? Those moustaches, that arrogant nose, that pride, that wrath?

Where is the beautiful idol, where happiness? To whom have you given your coverlet? A brick is now your pillow, your mattress the earth.”

Bid farewell to eating and sleeping; go seek the true religion, that you may be a prince of eternity without your little laws and customs.

Do not unsoul this soul; do not convert this bread to dung, O you who have flung the pearl into the bottom of the dung.

Know that we are attached to dung for the pearl’s sake, O soul; be broken, and seek the pearl, proud and conceited one.

When you see a man of God, act like a man and offer him service; when you experience anguish and affliction, do not furrow your brow.

This is my lampoon, O body, and that prince of mine is also I; how long will you go on speaking of little s¯ıns and sh¯ıns?

Shams al-H. aqq-i Tabr¯ız¯ı, you are yourself the water of life; what shall discover that water, save the tearful eye?