غزل شمارهٔ 1869

Go, know that the code of lovers is opposite to all other ways, for from the Beloved lies are better than truth and beneficence.

His impossibility comes to pass, his insalubriousness is a bonus, his injustice is all rectitude. Calumny from him is justice.

His hard is soft, his synagogue is the Kaaba, the Beloved’s thorn is better than roses and basil.

The moment when he is bitter is better than a sweetshop, and the moment when he becomes weary, that is kissing and embracing.

The moment when he says to you, “By Allah, I am indifferent to you”—that is the water of Khid.ar from the fountain of life.

The moment when he says “No,” in his “No” are a thousand “Yeses”; his strangerhood is kinship according to the code of the unselfed.

His infidelity becomes all faith, his stone all coral, his miserliness all beneficence, his crime all forgiveness.

If you criticize, you say, “You have a crooked way of going on”; I have bought the way of his brow and given my life.

I am drunk with this crooked way; I have made enough, and closed my lips—rise up, bright heart, and recite the rest of it.

Shams al-H. aqq-i Tabr¯ız¯ı! Dear Lord, what sugar you sprinkle! You might say that out of my mouth proceed a hundred proofs and demonstrations.