آڈیوز
یہ صفحہ صرف صداکار افسر آریا کی دستیاب آڈیوز دکھاتا ہے۔
Come; for plunder of the tray of fasting, the Turk of the sky hath made: Hint at the circulation of the cup, the new crescent moon hath made.
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With the luminous liquid of wine, an Aref purification made, Early in the morning when, to the wine-house, visit he made.
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The Sufi laid the snare; and open, the cover of his box, made. With the sky sorcery-playing, the structure of deceit, he made.
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A nightingale drank the blood of the liver, and gained a rose: With a hundred thorns, perturbed his heart, the wind of, envy made.
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Like the wind, resolution of the head of the Beloved’s street, I will make: By His pleasant perfume, my own breath, musk-raining, I will make.
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Into the curve of that doubled tress, the hand one cannot put: Reliance on Thy covenant and the morning breeze, one cannot make.
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My heart from me, He took; concealed from me, His face, Lie made: For God’s sake! with whom can this sport be made?
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On her path, I laid my face; and by me passing, she made not. I hoped for a hundred kindnesses; yet one glance, she made not.
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Friends! repentance of veiledness, the daughter of the vine made: To the Mohtaseb she went; and by permission the work made.
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At the head of Jamshid’s cup, at that time thy glance, thou canst make, When the dust of the wine-house, the collyrium of thy eye, thou canst make.
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I know not what is the intoxication that to us its face hath brought: Who is the cup-bearer? This wine, whence hath he brought?
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Last night, news to me the messenger of the morning wind brought, Saying: “To shortness, its face, the day of labor and of grief hath brought.”
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When my Beloved the wine-cup in hand taketh, The market of idols, disaster taketh.
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If the Saki the wine into the cup, in this way cast All the Arefs into ever drinking, He will cast.
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A world altogether, to pass life a single moment in grief is not worth: For wine, sell our ragged religious garment; for more than this it is not worth.
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In the morning when, his standard on the mountainous lands, the Khosro of the east pitched, With the hand of mercy, the door of hopeful ones, my beloved beat;
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Play a note, at the melody whereof, a great sigh, one can cast: Utter a verse, whereby the heavy cup of wine one can cast.
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If after Him, I go, He up stirreth calamity: And if I sit from search, in wrath, He ariseth.
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Desire of passion for Thy fresh down to whomsoever, shall be: Forth from the circle he planteth not his foot, so long as he shall be.
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I and refusal of wine! What a tale this is! Doubtless, this degree of reason mine; and sufficient is.
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Not all purity without alloy is the coat of the Sufi; O many a Khirka, that is worthy of the fire!
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Pleasant is Khalvat, if my beloved, the Beloved shall be Not if I consume and the candle of assembly, He shall be.
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Happy came the rose; and more happy than that aught is not. For, in thy hand, save the cup aught is not.
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Without the beloved’s face, the rose is not pleasant. Without wine, spring is not pleasant.
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That my heart’s work should be ended, my soul melted; and it became not: In this immature wish, I consumed; and it became not.
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Last night a messenger of news from His Highness Asaf came. From His Highness Soleiman, the order of joy came.
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Love for Thee, the plant of perturbation became Union with Thee, the perfection of perturbation became.
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In the morning, to my pillow, vigilant fortune came: Said: Arise! For that thy dear Khosro hath come.
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Of coins, is it that they examination take So that, after their own work, all the cloister-holders take?
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One day, when recollection of us thy musky reed maketh, It will take reward: Two hundred slaves that free, it maketh_
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Inclination for the sward, the cypress of my sward, wberefore maketh not? The fellow-companion of the rose, becometh not? Memory of the lily maketh not?
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I said: “Me, prosperous, Thy mouth and lip, when do they make?” He said: “By my eye whatever thou sayest even so do they make.”
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