غزل شمارهٔ 2266

Saki of the moonface, circulate the cup, deliver me out of shame and name.

Saki, I am a prisoner in your snare, for you have laid at every step a snare.

Have done with sloth, seize me! Be not slothful, for the tribe has departed.

Is not sobriety the alighting-place of every care? Is not joy banned in anxiety?

Fast, for fasting is great gain; the faster drinks the wine of the spirit.

It is in tradition that whoever keeps the fast sees the moon of God in the evening time.

It is not just that when I enter by the door, you should flee from me by the roof:

You flee and I crying after you, “Be patient one moment, O fleet of pace!”

Moslems, Moslems, what remedy is there? For I am consumed with fire, and yet this business is unsettled.

There is no remedy but pure wine in cups which noble men have circulated.

The tale of lovers has no end, so we will be satisfied with this, and so farewell!

The answer of Mutanabb¯ı’s saying is this: “A heart which wine cannot console.”