I came from the monastery of the Guebres, and wear, from shame on account of improprieties, a sacred thread twisted round my waist, and a wailing gong under my arm.*
I am jealous, and I shall die from the aggressions of fickle lovers. I am a fresh plant, but shall die from the heap of rubbish about me.
I, too, have at last perished in the century of thy love. Alas! none is now left of Majnún's tribe.*
Sorrows rush from every side on my heart without first knocking at the door. I cannot help it: my house lies on the highway.
His name is Pádisháh Qulí, and he is the son of Sháh Qulí Khán Náranjí of Kurdistán, near Baghdád.
See how extremely jealous I am. My bewilderment leaves me, if any one alludes to him [the beautiful boy] whose memory causes my bewilderment.
1. Sometimes I break my vow of repentance and sometimes the wine-bottle; once, twice, incessantly, I break my plaintive flute [my heart].
2. O Lord, deliver my heart from these bad practices! How often shall I repent and again break my vow of repentance!
His mind, from his youth, was unsettled. He belongs to the sect of the Mahmúdís; but I know nothing of his origin, nor of his present condition. The Masnawí entitled ‘Zarrah o Khurshíd,’ ‘the Atom and the Sun,’ is written by him.
Dust of the grave-yard, rise for once to joy! Thou enclosest a corpse like mine, slain by his hand and his dagger.
Dress in whatever colour thou wilt: I recognize thee when thy figure shines forth.
Pass some day by the bazar of the victims of thy love, and behold the retribution that awaits thee; for there they buy up every one of thy crimes at the price of a hundred meritorious actions.*
O thou that takest the loaf of the sun from this warm oven, thou hast not given Tashbíhí a breakfast, and he asks thee for an evening meal.*
1. I am that Tashbíhí who, from foresight, chooses to dwell in a grave-yard.
2. I like to dwell in a grave-yard, because dwelling in a grave-yard lies before our sight.
The hands of this world and of the world to come are empty. With me is the ring!—all other hands are empty.*
He is a Ṭabáṭibá Sayyid, and is a poet of some talent.
Those who are slain by thee lie everywhere inebriated on the ground: perhaps the water of thy steel was wine.
My body melts in the fire of my madness, when he [the lovely boy] is away; and if you should hang an iron chain to my neck, it would flow (molten) to my feet.
Whenever I have to bear the pang of separation from my beloved, no one bears with me but death.
Ashkí, I think, my tears have turned watchers; for whenever I think of him, they rush into my face.*
His name is Amír Qází. He is a man of education.
The messenger was a watcher in disguise, and I did not see his cunning. The cruel wretch succeeded in putting his contrivance between us.
I have pardoned my murderer, because he did not take his hand away from me; for as long as life was left within me, his murderous hands were properly employed.
His love has so completely filled my breast, that you can hear him breathe in my breath.
Give him no wine who feels no higher pleasure in the juice of grapes; do not even give him water when he lies as dust before the door of the tavern.
I have no patience when in love, and have lost in reputation. Tell reputation to go, I cannot be patient.
He spent some time in the acquisition of such sciences as are usually studied; but he thinks much of himself.
As thou hast never gone from my heart, I wonder how thou couldst have found a place in the hearts of all others.
1. Thou drovest me away, and I came back, not from jealousy, but because I wish to confess that I feel ashamed of my love having had jealousy as a companion.
2. My tears derive a lustre from the laughter of cruel wretches; else a wound inflicted by thee could never produce such bloody tears.
A lover may have many reasons to complain; but it is better not to unburden the heart before the day of judgment.
If I desire to accuse thee of shedding, in every look, hundred torrents of lover's blood, my lot, though hostile enough, would be ready to be my witness.
I am gone, my reason is gone! I want a flash of madness to strike my soul, so as to keep it burning [with love] till the day of judgment.
1. Last night union [with the sweet boy] raised her lovely form before me, and the gloomy desert of my heart shone forth in raptures.
2. But the bat had no power to gaze at the sun; else the sun would have revealed what is now behind the screen.
His name is Amír Beg. He was a good painter.
Where is the wine of love given to wretches without feeling? Loving idols is a drunkenness; let men be careful whom to give it!
O God! I cannot reach the world of the ideal; forgive me if I worship form.*
His mind is somewhat unsettled.
If I knew that tears could make an impression, I would altogether turn to blood and trickle from the eye.
Whether I see him [the beautiful boy] or not, my heart is in raptures. Have you ever seen such a sight?
I wished I could like a breeze pass away from this base world. This is not the street of the sweetheart, from which one cannot pass away.
My blood dances from mirth in my vein like a flame: the look he gave me commences to work, and my heart is effectually wounded.
His name is 'Abdussalám. He is of Arabian extraction, and has acquired some knowledge; but he is not clear to himself.
Fortune cheats in play, loses, and takes back what she paid. One cannot play with a companion that is up to such tricks.
1. How long do you file down your words and polish them; how long do you shoot random arrows at the target?
2. If you would take one lesson in the science of silence, you would laugh loud at your silly conversation.
1. I keep a thousand thunderbolts concealed below my lip. Go away, go away, take care not to put your finger on my lip.
2. I have come to the public square of the world, but I think it were better if my Yúsuf were yet in the pit than in the bazar.*
Patience, in order to console me, has again put me off with new subterfuges, and has stitched up the book of my happiness the wrong way.
1. My heart has overcome the grief of separation, and has gone from this land; it has tucked the hem up to the waist and has gone.
2. My heart saw among the companions no trace of faithfulness; hence it smiled hundred times by way of friendship and went away.
He is a cloth-weaver from Harát. He generally composes Rubá'ís.
1. On the day when the lover kindled the fire of love, he learnt from his beloved what burning grief is.
2. This burning and melting has its origin in the beloved; for the moth does not burn till it reaches the candle.
1. On the day of judgment, when nothing remains of the world but the tale, the first sign of Eternity's spring will appear:
2. The beloved will raise like plants their heads from the dust, and I, too, shall raise my head in courtship.*
I am utterly ashamed of the dogs of thy street; for they have made friendship with a man like me.
I am in misery; and you would know the sadness of my lot, if you were in stead of me to suffer for one night the grief of being separated from him [the beautiful boy].
Who am I that thou shouldst be my enemy, and shouldst care for my being or not being?
He is a merchant and a poet; he works hard and spends his gains liberally.
Shew no one my black book of sorrows; let no one know my crimes [love].
O Haidarí, try, like the virtuous, to attain some perfection in this world of sorrow; for to leave this world deficient in anything, is like leaving the bath in a dirty state.
He is the son of the preceding. His versification is good.
My disgrace has made me famous, and my shame [love] has rendered me well-known; perplexed I ask myself why I remain concealed.
The farmers have committed their seeds to the field, and now hope to receive aid from the flood of my tears.