آڈیوز
یہ صفحہ صرف صداکار محمدرضا مومن نژاد کی دستیاب آڈیوز دکھاتا ہے۔
A gazer, save upon Thy face, the pupil of our eye is not. A remembrancer save of Thee, our overturned heart is not.
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Thou sawest that, save the desire of violence and of tyranny, my beloved aught had not. He shattered the covenant; and, on account of our grief, grief had not.
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If from the hand of Thy musky tress, a fault passed, it passed: And, if against us from Thy dark mole, an act of tyranny passed, it passed.
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From His lip of ruby, a draft we tasted not; and He departed: His face, moon of form, we beheld not to our fill; and He departed.
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Saki! come; for the true Beloved hath taken up the veil, The work of the lamp of the Khilvatis again kindled.
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O hidden from sight! to God, I entrust, thee. Thou consumedest my soul; yet with heart, friend I hold thee.
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What kindness it was when, suddenly, the dropping of thy pen Represented the obligations of our service according to the goodness of thee.
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The sun of every vision, Thy beauty be More beautiful than the beauty, Thy beautiful face be.
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O Lord! the ball of the sky in the curve of the polo of thine be: The place of existence and of dwelling the space of the plain of thine be!
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That one, from whose hyacinth lock, a great torment, ambergris hath. Again, with those heart-gone, grace and reproach hath.
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In the morning, the nightingale told a tale to the east wind, Saying: for us what love for the face of the rose made.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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