غزل شمارهٔ 2422

For a moment lay your cheek on the cheek of this drunkard, for a moment put behind your war and cruelty.

If it be hard, I bring out silver in my hand; put in this hand wine like gold.

You who have opened the doors of the seven heavens, lay the hand of generosity on my fettered heart.

All I have to offer is not-being; give the nickname of being to my not-being.

You are both breaker and binder of the broken; lay the balm of the soul on my broken head.

Do not put a seal on that sugar and pistachio nut; lay everlasting love upon this servant.

I have told you fifty times, O heart: do not hunt, put your foot in this net.