WHY should we but in the assembly pray?
Only when friends are gathered call for wine?
Lo, I have done with this hypocrisy,
And ever pray and drink the cup divine.
The fountain of my spirit has run dry,
So that in tears no more my sorrow flows,
Mute is the heart that wailed continually,
Silent the bulbul in the garden-close.
Here, as we tread the pilgrim’s way, we find
The torch of inspiration like a fire,
Men see it not, so dull they are and blind,
They yearn not for the garments of desire.
To each was given on the Creation-day
His fitting portion, his appointed share,
Why should’st thou then demand from destiny
More joy than others have, less pain to bear?
O Makhfi, for thy counsel all have come,
Their secrets thou hast kept concealed, apart,
But why should’st thou, who for their sakes art dumb,
Tell shamelessly the secrets of thy heart?