آڈیوز
یہ صفحہ صرف صداکار زهرا بهمنی کی دستیاب آڈیوز دکھاتا ہے۔
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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For God’s sake. O pious ones! forth from the hand, goeth my heart. For God’s sake: O the pain that the hidden mystery should be disclosed.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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That envoy, who arrived from the country of the Friend; And brought the amulet of life from the dark writing of the Friend.
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Welcome! O Messenger of the Longing Ones, give the message of the Friend. That, with the essence of pleasure, I may make my soul a sacrifice for the Friend.
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Thy face, none hath seen; and a thousand watchers are Thine, Still in the rosebud, Thine many a nightingale is.
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More pleasant than the pleasure and the enjoyment of the garden and the spring is what? Where is the Said? Say: “The cause of our waiting is what?”
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O nightingale! bewail if, the desire of being a lover with me, thine is. For, we two are, weeping lovers; and our work, weeping is.
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From the city, my moon went this week; to my eye a year it is: The state of separation what knowest thou how difficult the state is?
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The Zahed, outward worshipper! Of our state, knowledge is none. In respect of us, whatever he saith, room for abhorrence is none.
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Now, that the fragrant breeze of Paradise bloweth from the rose garden. I and the wine, joy-giving and the Beloved angel.
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My heart, in desire of the face of Farrukh, Is in confusion like the hair of Farrukh.
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At morning time, a perfume from the Beloved’s tress, the breeze brought: Into action, our heart distraught for Thee brought.
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When my Beloved the wine-cup in hand taketh, The market of idols, disaster taketh.
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Thou wrotest not the account of thy state; and, passed some time: Where a confidant so that to thee, I may send some message?
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If lawful the need of profligates, the wine-seller maketh, His sin, God forgiveth; and, repelling of calamity maketh.
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For profligacy and love, my censure that foolish one maketh; Who, on the mysteries of men of hidden knowledge, criticism maketh.
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Who is that one, who, by way of manliness, fidelity with me will make; In respect of an ill-doer like me, once a good deed will make?
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Thou knowest what tale that the harp and the lyre make? Secretly drink ye wine that thee precious they may make.
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