Number 11

My love, what difference is there to us between the mosque and the temple? For loving a beautiful face is what leads us to paradise. Sometimes I am the wine drinking rogue, sometimes the old wine seller. What can I do? All of this is simply my fate. When the hand of power shaped the clay of humankind with such artistry, I am left wondering what the cupbearer mixed into my own making. Your face and curls, beauty, are flower and hyacinth enough; we have no need of meadows or open fields. I am not searching for the scent of paradise, nor chasing the beauty of heaven's maidens; just show me your radiant face and keep your paradise.