غزل شمارهٔ 359

In this river the heart is like a ruined waterwheel; in whichever direction it turns, there is water before it;

And even if you turn your back to the water, the water runs hurrying before you.

How shall the shadow save its soul from the sun, seeing that its soul is in the hand of the sun?

If the shadow stretches forth its neck, the sun’s face that instant is shrouded.

Brave Sun, before which this sun in heaven quivers with fear like quicksilver!

The moon is like quicksilver on a palsied palm—one night only, and for the rest it is poured forth;

In every thirty nights, two nights it is united and lean, for the rest it endures separation, and separation is torture.

Though it is wretched, it is fresh of face; laughter is the habit and wont of lovers.

It lives laughing, and likewise dies laughing, for its return is to laughing fortune.

Keep silent, for the faults of vision always come from question and answer.