آڈیوز
یہ صفحہ صرف صداکار هادی روحانی کی دستیاب آڈیوز دکھاتا ہے۔
Ho! O Saki, pass around and offer the bowl: For love at first appeared easy, but difficulties have occurred.
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The rectitude of work, where? and, I ruined where? Behold the distance of the Path, from where to where?
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If that Bold One of Shiraz gain our heart, For His dark mole, I will give Samarkand and Bukhara.
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O breeze! with softness speak to the beautiful fawn, Saying: Thou hast given to us desire for the mountain and the desert.
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To the Sultan’s attendants, who will convey this prayer “In thanks for sovereignty, away from sight drive not the beggar?”
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O Sufi! come; for bright is the mirror of the cup: That thou mayst see the brightness of the wine of ruby hue.
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O Saki! arise; and give the cup: Strew dust on the head of the grief of time.
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The splendor of youth’s time again belongeth to the garden; The glad tidings of the rose reacheth the bulbul sweet of song.
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Last night from the Masjed towards the wine tavern our Pir came: O friends of the Path! after this, what is our plan?
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Saki! with the light of wine, up-kindle the cup of ours. Minstrel! speak, saying: “The world’s work hath gone to the desire of ours.”
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O! the splendor of the moon-beauty from the illumined face of Thine! The lustre of beauteousness from the chin-dimple of Thine!
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The morning blossometh; and the cloud bindeth a veil: O companions! the morning cup! the morning cup!
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I said: “O Sultan of lovely ones! show pity to this poor stranger.” He said: “In the desire of his own heart, loseth his way the wretched stranger.”
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O chaste beloved! Who draweth the fastening of the veil of thee? O bird of Paradise! grain and water, who giveth thee?
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The great curve that, into the bow, thy told eye-brow cast, In design of the blood of me, miserable, powerless, it cast.
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From the fire of my heart, my chest in grief for the Beloved consumed. In this house, was a fire, that the house consumed.
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O Saki! be the coming of the new year auspicious to thee: And these promises thou madest, let them not go from thy memory.
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O fragrant morning breeze! The Beloved’s rest-place is where? The dwelling of that Moon, Lover-slayer, Sorcerer, is where?
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The fast a side hath gone; and the Id hath come; and hearts have risen: In the wine-house, the wine hath come into tumult; and it is necessary to ask.
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Went heart and faith; and the Heart-Ravisher with reproach arose, And said: “Sit not with me; for, from thee, safety hath risen.”
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O Heart-ravisher! thou art not a speech-recognizer. Here, the fault is: When thou hearest the speech of people of heart speak not saying: “A fault it is.”
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In every path of Islam, the image of Thy face fellow traveler of ours is. Ever, the perfume of Thy hair, the soul-informer of ours is.
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From me intoxicated, is the desire of devotion and of covenant, and of rectitude; For, in Eternity without beginning, I became renowned for wine-drinking.
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Blossomed is the red rose; and intoxicated is the nightingale; The invitation to merriment O Lovers, wine-worshipping!
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Tress dishevelled; sweat expressed; lip laughing; intoxicated; Garment rent; song-singing; goblet in His hand;
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Into the Magian’s cloister, came my Friend a goblet in His hand: With wine intoxicated, He with his eye intoxicated the wine-dirnkers.
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With fancy for Thee, what desire for wine is ours? To the jar say: “Take thy head; for the jar-house is ruined.”
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With a single hair of its, a thousand hearts, the tress bound, The path of a thousand remedies bound.
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What men of our closed circle call “the Night of Power” to-night is. O Lord! from what constellation, this effect of fortune is?
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When the form of thy heart alluring eye-brow, God established. In thy glances, the solving of my work, He established.
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To him that hath chosen solitude, of the spectacle is what need? When the street of the Beloved is, of the desert is what need?
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The chamber of vision of my eye is the dwelling of Thine: Show courtesy, and alight, for this house is the House of Thine.
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O admonisher! Go about thy own work: what is this tumult? From the hand, my heart hath fallen: what hath befallen thee?
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Since thy tress-tip, into the power of the breeze, fell, My distraught heart, into two pieces on account of grief, fell.
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Come! For most unstable is the foundation of the Palace of Hope: Bring the cup; for the foundation of Life is on the wind.
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Without the sun of Thy cheek, light for my day, hath remained not And of my life, save the blackest night, aught hath remained not.
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Of the cypress and the pine, what need hath my garden? Our box-tree nurtured in the shade, is less than who?
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Thanks be to God that the door of the wine-tavern open, is. In such a way that, my face of supplication upon its door is.
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Though wine is joy exciting! and the breeze rose-enslaving, Drink not wine to the sound of the harp. For bold the Muhtaseb is.
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To utter to thee the state of my heart is my desire: To hear news of my heart is my desire.
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The court of the garden is joy-giving; and the society of friends, pleasant; Pleasant, be the time of the rose, whereby the time of wine-drinkers is pleasant.
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Now that in the palm of the rose, is the cup of pure wine, In it praise, is the nightingale with a hundred thousand tongues.
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At this time, a friend, who is free from defect, Is the goblet of pure wine, and the song-book.
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The rose is in the bosom; wine in the hand; and the Beloved to my desire, On such a day, the world’s Sultan is my slave.
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In the Street of the tavern, every holy traveler, that knew the Path The knocking at another door, the source of ruin knew.
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From the wine’s sparkle, the Sufi knew the hidden mystery: Every one’s essence, by this ruby thou canst know.
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The garden of lofty Paradise is the retreat of Darvishes: Grandeur’s source is the service of Darvishes.
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In the snare of Thy tress, my heart entangled of itself is. Slay with a glance; for to it, punishment of itself is.
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The fresh ruby, thirsty for blood the ruby lip of the Beloved of mine is Yet for seeing Him, life-surrendering the work of mine is.
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‘Tis a time since the passion for idols was my faith: The pain of this work, the joy of the sorrowful heart of mine is.
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