English
Poem 15
Our heart is a mirror for every tulip cheeked beauty;
it moves from door to door, lit by the glow of the beloved.
What a strange marvel: a single hue made of a hundred clashing colors.
Wherever an idol of beauty stands, our heart holds up the mirror.
Always hoping that you might be the one lying in wait,
our heart becomes the prey wherever a snare is set.
If love did not exist, who would nurture beauty?
Wherever you are, our heart is a garden in full spring.
The moment we lifted our lashes in the dust of misfortune,
our heart was a mirror buried under that dust.
You rose from sleep, a vision of pure radiance;
in the season of your face, our heart holds up the mirror.
If there is no room for grief and pain in this house,
then, Fayyaz, what good is our heart for anything?