Ghazals

That playful beauty's flirting glance killed me, though I was innocent; the apple of that dimpled chin threw me down a well. I became the slave of the dark mole on that face, not knowing that a black beauty spot would take me captive. My heart was steady and my mind was sound, but the way that beloved walked led my heart astray. A thousand times I fell into the snare of my eyes and heart, and still I have not learned my lesson. I cannot turn my face away from that love, even if grass were to sprout from the dust of my grave. If I die from the beloved's cruelty I will come alive again, if only that gaze looks on me with kindness. Obayd, do not give up hope in the beloved's grace, for that generous kindness is my only hope.

Our separation has gone too far, your cruelty too far. Come, it's the season of joy, of making peace and being clear again. Your lips have written their claim in the blood of lovers' hearts. What is this fresh dust of estrangement standing between us? Your two eyes threw me into black misfortune. Otherwise, what am I, and where would I get this drunkenness and love? Who could ever dare to ask those raiding eyes: why do you plunder the mind and wits of the whole world? There's no freeing the heart from your curls and beauty mark; those dark captors will not let it go. My heart is lovesick and shattered by your curling hair. Yes, longing always brings this kind of ruin. Obeyd describes your mouth and lips. See how fine and delicate his thinking is.

The ways of that lovely one drove me wild; his love set me free from both the world and religion. Sorrow became my companion, and I sorrow's; who knows what such a companion will bring upon me. The way the fire in my heart keeps flaring up, how long will this burning breath scorch me? Friends, that restless hair of his won't grant me a single moment's rest on this earth. I saw him from afar, and my reason said, stay away from him; far-sighted reason is driving me mad. If his hair cast its shade over my head for a moment, the sun would become my servant and the moon would glean for me. Since I, like Obeyd, keep vigil at his doorstep, I have no desire left for the highest paradise.

The one who steals my heart looks at me with disdain, and the one I know so well walks past me like a stranger. Though I did nothing wrong, my friend has pulled away. Who knows what my enemy whispered behind my back. I complain to no one about the cruelty I suffer, afraid that talk would only spread our story further. I have surrendered my heart to the pain of separation, since the healer has no cure to offer me anyway. Longing for the coiled chain of her hair, my troubled heart goes mad with every breath. If this burning sigh of mine passed over a mountain, surely its hard heart would catch fire for my sake. You may well weep tears of blood, Obeyd, for she never leaves anything of me but ruin.

The lovely lines and mole of your face are the source of my madness; a single breath spent with you is the root of all I want. The moment longing for you steps into the kingdom of my soul, patience leaps out from my lovesick heart. Now that love's royal canopy has cast its shadow over me, if you look for me, ask the way to the tavern. With your beautiful face here as the shrine for everyone, my Christian sweetheart, let there be no other Kaaba. I am one of the wandering, carefree gypsy folk: who am I, and what is bowing in prayer? My light, reckless mind has decided to flee. Tell that cold, gloomy Sufi not to bother me; you keep your prayer niche of piety, I'll keep my cross. Don't set the heavy wine cup out of your hand, Obeyd, for our life is running off on quick, light feet.

The chain of your curling hair drives me insane, your drunken, drowsy eyes drag me to the tavern. I am amazed: how did the sorrow of loving you suddenly find me here, in this ruined corner? My heart longs for the soft curve of your neck; that is why each of my tears falls like a precious pearl. What fortune it would be, if in the light of your face they found me burned and dead, like a moth at a candle. This preacher gives me a headache, and imagines I actually care for his pointless, empty tales. The only cure is to put on a show of madness, so the wise preacher will finally forget about me. Since I got drunk on the wine of your love, like Obeid, I no longer crave the goblet or the cup.

Her deadly, playful glance shoots its arrow at me. My friends, what plan do you have for me in this affliction? I am not a madman who will listen to advice. Spare me the old man's counsel; tell my aging father to keep it. It is just me and my nightlong wailing, in the state I am in. When will anyone come to answer my midnight cry? My idol, love for you will only leave me with my life itself, for the grief of your love sank into me with my mother's milk. Unless the chain of your curling hair binds me for a moment, no chain in this whole city could hold me. They showed me the ring of your hair in a dream. What can that dream mean for me but confusion and despair?

The rose of your face freed me from ever needing a garden; the unbelief of your dark hair stripped away my faith. Once the image of your tall, graceful stature crossed my heart, my mind was set free from the swaying cypress tree. We who have been left restless and wild in loving you, the coil of your hair keeps scattering us to pieces. Until the hand of hope reaches the hem of union with you, my tears will not let go of your skirt. On the road to the Kaaba of your embrace we will not stop walking, even if the desert thorns break beneath our feet. Obeyd, how long can you chase after this heart of yours? Longing for you has left me utterly ruined and homeless.

My heart, seek friendship with the mystics; from the old master of the mystics, seek light. If you cannot find the quiet corner of contentment, then ask the madmen to show you the way. And if you long to rise to sacred heights, seek release from the snare of your own nature. If you are a true knower, take the road to the tavern; and if you are a fool, go looking for piety. Seek the cure for a weary heart in its own pain; find your own song in having nothing at all. If fate breaks you a hundred times over, don't go begging the mean-spirited for a remedy. Obeyd, if you are a beggar, count it a blessing; and if you are a king, still ask to be a beggar.

I have a lover with a face worth a hundred moons and suns, more delicate than a fresh flower, more fragrant than rosewater. More graceful than the wild rose standing in the garden, more charming than the tall cypress by the water's edge. Beside her face, the jasmine in the meadow burns with envy; feverish with shame at her glow, the wine sweats in the cup. One form, and a hundred graces; one face, and a hundred beauties; one glance, and a hundred flirtations; one ruby lip, and a hundred reproaches. The sun would hide itself behind a veil of shame if she ever lifted the veil from her life-giving face. Our souls are captives in the coils of her hair, our hearts roasted by her drunken eyes. I cry out at those two dark, curling locks like musky hyacinths; I beg for mercy from those two half-sleeping, bewitching eyes. Whenever she kneels close and offers me wine, in that moment I would give my life to the wind, fragile as a bubble. On the day she is with me, I, Obayd, on that day am blessed with pleasure and fulfilled in life.

Your kindness knows no limit, your beauty has no end. Your sting is sweet to the soul; your pain is our cure. Your love rules on the throne of the heart, a conqueror of kingdoms; your affection reigns over the realm of the soul as its ruler. The glow of your face is the source of the shining sun; your dimpled cheek works wonders like magic. Your seductive eyes are a doll that deceives people; your teasing glance works wonders like magic. From you comes only defiance, while on our side the face of hope still lies on the ground and the hand of longing is raised in prayer. If it kills you, Obeyd, bow your head and say nothing: the way of the beautiful is cruelty, and the lover's only remedy is to submit.

Happy the one who never escapes love for a moment, who feels no sorrow over wild abandon and no pull toward piety. The startled heart of scandalous lovers is a broken thing that no ointment can mend. He has set his mind free from thoughts of this world and the next, that knower of God who has no dealings with the crowd. I am the servant of the contented dervish's spirit, who carries no dream of grandeur, no craving for a throne. Do not keep asking God to grant your wishes, for at the door of His mercy there is no need to beg. I have grown content in the corner of solitude because I no longer long for hollow, false company. Obeyd Zakani is a free and solitary wanderer, no match for lordship, no man for running a household.

Don't be cruel; cruelty is not the way of one who steals hearts. Don't leave me; I have no strength to bear the parting. The fire of longing for you burns endlessly inside me, and not for a single moment am I free of that flame. To show devotion, then turn away and treat me harshly, is not the path of a lover, nor the code of one who charms hearts. Light up my eyes with the reflection of your face, for my sight finds no brightness except in that face. How could I ever dare to beg a kiss from you, when I lack even the courage to be a beggar at your door? The blessing of union with you can't be won by effort; it's clear that such fortune comes only as a gift. Obeyd, for those who truly love, a night of union is no less than a day of being king.

The lover in love is not wounded by the arrows of blame; the madman has no taste for the ways of the wise. What thought could he spare for our pain, what fear for our plight, someone whose heart is not bound and whose foot is not caught in the snare? Farhad, whose heart clings to Shirin, has no craving for healing balms, no need for sweetness. Wherever the fire of the beloved's sorrow flares up, gladly cast your life into it, for this is no place for wild rue. Stop, Obeyd, arguing with a heart gone wild; our advice does the poor wretch no good.

Longing for the beloved, I care for nothing else; no concern for my own life, no worry for the whole universe. If for a single breath I am kept away from the beloved, that breath does not count as part of my living. Silence in love, patience in separation: this is a tale that lies beyond what is possible. Choose the free, unpretentious way, for the pursuit of reputation and show is nothing but empty fancy and idle nonsense. Leave behind all that you own and move on, for a man has no better provision for the road to salvation than giving up provisions. Seek from yourself, for whatever you ask of the beloved is found neither in the narrow Kaaba nor in the temple of idols. I begged a kiss from the sweetheart's lips. She said, 'Go away, Obeyd, this is no time for charity.'

My beloved, tipsy and reckless, lifted the wine cup, and set a whole world spinning in tumult and uproar. The reflection of that sunlike beauty blazed across the world and seized all seven realms in its fire. When the morning breeze drifted through the curls of that hair, the whole garden filled with the scent of musk and amber. With every smoky sigh I breathed, a fire caught in the incense and the burner. My heart begged a kiss from that beloved, but how could such a plea ever take hold? Obayd, from the burning of his heart, kept telling the tale of that pain, again and again from the start.

My patience fled, my heart deserted me the moment my beloved left. What remedy can I find now that the one who was my remedy is gone? She mounted her horse and deliberately took the reins again, turned her face toward us helpless ones, and rode away once more. The spring of my eyes wept so much blood that the worn cloak of my hypocrisy was washed clean out of prayer. Except for dreams of her figure, her hair, and the tale of longing, every other lingering thought has left my mind. I used to guard myself carefully against people's blame, but now my story has passed far beyond all caution. What grief, what pain: apart from my beloved and worn down by the world's sorrow, my life slipped away, and truth was lost while I chased illusions. Obeyd, wailing like a caravan bell does no good now, for the whole caravan, bell and all, has left without waiting.

My dark-skinned idol's charm is beyond all measure; her scolding, like the cruelty of fate, is beyond all measure. The softness of her lips and teeth, the drunkenness of her eyes, like our own devotion to wine, each one is beyond all measure. Pleading, I said the rival's torment is beyond all measure; mocking, she said, without a doubt, it is beyond all measure. Drink the pure wine straight from the hand of your beloved, for the faithlessness of the turning sky is beyond all measure. They put Obeid's hardened heart to the test, and on the touchstone his loyalty proved beyond all measure.

When your cheek let its dark curls fall over the rosy skin, it stripped me of myself and made my name a rumor across the world. Before I could describe even a single strand of your hair, my heart tied a thousand knots on the tip of my tongue. Your mouth spoke of me as something frail and slight, and it made me truly doubt whether I even exist. You keep drawing the bow of your brow back to your ear, hoping to bring down some prey wherever one can be found. The seduction of your hair drew my words out long, then your lips slipped in a fine, subtle point of their own. No wonder that, faced with your face and brow, the moon dropped its shield and, in defeat, laid down its bow. Whatever Obeyd kept hidden of the secret of his love, his tears have flung it out onto everyone's lips.

From your embrace I gain nothing but longing; to dream of your hair is no strange madness. Last night my heart looked for faithfulness in your promise; you answered that such goods are not in stock with me. I told you again and again, my love, that I have hope in you; but you kept your mouth shut, as if from shame, though it isn't that. You promised a thousand kisses from your lips, and you won't give even one; and I don't have the nerve to ask. Since it is now your face's turn to shine, comfort a heart, for the strange tricks of fate are never clear. I feel ashamed before the guest of your image, because I have nothing to offer but tears and a burning heart. You said, mocking, that I hold my life back from you; for God's sake don't say it: Obeyd is not one of those.

I can no longer leave this land; being a stranger, far from my love's street, is impossible now. Away from your sweet lips, your hair, your face, I can find no patience, no strength, no calm, no rest. My heart, try hard to catch the hem of her robe, for there is no union without longing and waiting. I cannot survive without loving; I cannot go through spring without wine. In this land where I am living now, even the morning breeze can find no way to pass through. Obeyd, write a poem now and then if you can, for there is no keepsake sweeter than this.

Come, my love, for without you my heart finds no peace. I have no more patience left, no strength to keep waiting. Mad as I am, caught in the affliction of love, my heart wants nothing else, and my reason is useless. Whether you wish to call me close or drive me away, do as you please; the choice was never mine. It is enough for me that I carry the pain of love; from being near you I want no kiss, no embrace. My heart, be always in love and always drunk, for whoever is not drunk on love is not truly awake. Sit beside love and break free of reason, for to those who truly see, reason carries no weight. Every people has its own path, its way, its shrine to face; for Obayd there is no shrine but the street of the beloved.

Our life yields nothing but trouble, and time gives us no share except weariness. Don't hope for a lucky throw from the dice of this world; this five-day game is nothing but a passing dream. High rank, glory, power, and wealth come only with the stain of instability, flaw, and ruin. Happy is the mind that never craved rank and glory; glad is the heart that isn't chasing power and wealth. Don't seek your bread from the table of the stingy, for to those who walk the true path that morsel is forbidden. Look at the ways of the world with the eye of reason; don't ask how anyone is doing, for there's no room to ask. Like the twisted curls of the beauties of this land, wherever there's defiance, it ends in nothing but being trampled. In this flood of turmoil where all people have fallen, there's no rescuer but the mercy of the Glorious God. My heart has been freed from grief so completely that from now on there is no way for joy to find a place in it. I'd give my life for the wise one who said: 'Shiraz is no place for people of true worth.' Poverty, exile, and hardship have gone beyond all limits; I, Obeyd, can bear no more than this.

My heart never wandered to any place but your street; not for a moment did the image of your face leave my sight. My life left me, but longing for you never left my soul; my head was lost, yet the desire for you never left my head. Whoever was not slain by love, when they went to the grave, came into the world unaware and left it unaware. In the street of love no wretched, homeless soul ever showed a sign who did not arrive with a wounded heart and leave with a bleeding one. My life passed in the search for love, and in the end my heart found no fulfillment, no task was ever finished. You cast such a frenzy across the horizons that no one was left who, like Obeyd, did not fall headlong into this uproar and turmoil.

As long as our jug isn't full of wine at home, there's no peace for us, no rest, no calm, no sleep. In a private room with wine, the cupbearer, and a beautiful face, there's no need for harp or lute or flute or fiddle. Cheer up your friends with wine while there's time; in our book, a life not spent in joy doesn't count at all. Here's the wine, and if you feel like washing up before prayer, use the pitcher, because there's no water in this house. For us, the realm of poverty and contentment is enough; we need no handout from any king who rules over slaves. Like Obeyd, tear down the house of your existence, because treasure is found only in the ruins.