My Saki made me drink the wine
Of There is no god but He:
From the illusive world of sense,
This cup divine has set me free.
Now I find no charm or grace
In song and ale, or harp and lute:
To me appeal the tulips wild,
The riverside and mountains mute.
My flagon small is blessing great,
For the age athirst and dry:
In the cells where mystics swell
Big empty gourds are lying by.
In love a novice I am yet,
Much good for you to keep apart,
For my glance is restive more
Than my wild and untam’d heart.
The dark unfathomed caves of sea,
Hold gems of purest ray serene:
The gems retain in midst of brine
Their essence bright and clean.
Through the poet’s quickening gaze
The rose and tulip lovelier seem:
No doubt, the minstrel’s piercing glance
Is nothing less than magic gleam.
[Translated by Syed Akbar Ali Shah]
*
At times, Love is a wanderer who has no
home,
And at times it is Noshervan, the King of
Kings:
At times it comes to the battlefield in full
armor,
And at times naked and weaponless.
[Translated by the Editors]