English
Ghazal 6
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.