غزل شمارهٔ 1126

Do not slacken the bowstring, for I am your four-feathered arrow; do not turn your face away, for I am a man with one heart, not two-headed.

From you is the striking of the sharp sword, from the heart and soul a hundred consents; I am a man of one word like fate, I am not “if ” or “perhaps”!

If you draw Dhu ’l-Faq¯ar I am constant and firm of foot, I do not flee like the wind, I do not die like a spark.

I will surrender my soul to the sword, I will not say alas; God has made me like a shield for the blows of His sword.

Sun, smite with your glow the neck of the night as with a sword; whence comes the darkness of the nights? From the forge of muddy earth.

The body is a mine of endurance, the heart is a mine of gratitude, the bosom is a mine of laughter, the liver is a mine of compassion.

Make your throne, O king, on my head as a cap; tightly draw me into your breast as a garment.

Someone said, “Whence has Love form and hands?” Love is the sprouting-bed of every hand and foot in the forms.

Did not your father and mother play at love for one moment? When they were united, one like you made his appearance.

Do not regard Love, which without hands made your hand a hand, as being without hand or head; look in another fashion.

You who have eyes to see, the colour of all faces, the water of all rivers—know these are Shams-i H. aqq, the Pride of Tabriz.