The holiday has come, yet my pain stays the same,
and the single grief I carried has become a thousand.
My true holiday is the sight of that beloved face;
so what do I care for anyone else's holiday?
Explanation: The 'holiday' is Eid, a time of public celebration that only sharpens the poet's private sorrow. The beloved's face is his only real feast.
Original · Persian
شمارهٔ ۱۲
عید آمد و درد برقرارست مرا
وآن غم که یکی بود هزارست مرا
چون عید ز روی آن نگارست مرا
با عید دگر کسان چه کارست مرا؟