Fragments

When you reach Shiraz, morning breeze, take this letter and carry my greetings to my loved ones. Though I cannot bear to be away from my friend's face, I endure it only because I must, like a fish enduring life out of water.

If they take me to paradise without you, I would rather sew my eyes shut than look at it. This is not what God promised me: that in paradise itself I should have to burn.

I asked: what have I done that you won't even look at me? And the affection you once had, why has it faded? You said: for the crime that at seventy years old you still dream of feasting, when it's time for mourning.

The restlessness in your drunken eyes is the smoke rising from a loving heart's grief. And here's the strange thing: her eyes ache, yet it's from our eyes that the tears of blood keep flowing. Two disasters have broken out at the very same time; it's clear the end of days has come.

Tell the beautiful one to dress in rags: they remain the same lovely, adorned figure. Tell the ugly one to wear a thousand fine robes: they remain the same corpse washer from last year.

What can be said about a drop of spring rain? What can be said about the musk of the Tartar deer? If every thing could fit inside a fitting praise, what could be said of the beauty and depth you hold?

Talk of love is forbidden to that empty chatterer who, after reciting ten lines of a love poem, breaks into flattery of a patron. How admirable is Saadi's high resolve and his way of speaking, for he never abandons the beloved to court a patron.

I would say I have never seen a mouth smaller than yours. There are mouths smaller than this wide one of yours, but not every small mouth is sweet as sugar.

A hill of fragrant amber rests upon her chin; you'd truly say it's a quince dusted with musk. If it ever fell into the hands of Sufis, they'd give it up for nothing less than a stolen kiss.

You are not someone anyone turns away from because of cruelty; the fault is yours, yet here I stand, asking forgiveness. Could any dust of yours ever trouble my heart? I am the dust beneath your feet, and what does dust care about a little dust?

Enough, beautiful boy with your sweet, clever ways; the fire of loving you has set the whole world ablaze. Why would you need foul naphtha to hold in your mouth? Your own ruby lips already keep a fire burning there.

That fairy-faced beauty whom everyone, man or woman, old or young, praises as a connoisseur of beauty the moment they see her. She brushed my sleeve and at once I fainted; they were right when they said: it's a fairy that strikes the madman.

For me, gazing at beauty is no sin, since whatever I look upon appears beautiful in my eyes. Everyone has been given two eyes in their head, but you see the painting, while I look at the painter.

One night I want to whisper it to you in secret, hidden from friends and strangers alike. I want to pull the curve of your hair toward me so gently that even the collar's button next to it stays unaware. But every sin has its own punishment, and the sin of love is paid for by the cruelty of rivals.

The idol-worshipper plants a thousand kisses on a stone that can bring neither harm nor good, no sign of either. You, my idol, are not made of stone; you are harder than stone, since no one can ever land a kiss upon your lips!

Someone scolded me for loving his face: Why rush so blindly to drown in your own blood? Ask the one who keeps a captive tied to his saddle; don't ask me, the one with the noose around his neck.

How long will you tell me to give up loving her, to calm myself with patience? Tell the amber not to pull; what can one poor scrap of straw do against it?

I envy that black blanket, since it lies against her silver body, slim as a cypress tree. Look at that blanket, what pleasure it enjoys against her, and look at my black luck, kept far from her side.

I said I would catch you on the road and hold your hem, and tell you: your radiant beauty is the envy of the sun. You set a whole city on fire with the grief of separation, but I was the first to be trapped in the chains of loving you. Grant me the gift of one devoted glance from the corner of your eye, so I may be your servant and forever in your debt. A wise friend counseled me: be careful, do not make a scene; the beloved does not care for your loud complaints. The witness of my love is right there; why explain my state? Just look into that face, and my heart's secret is already known.

How much pain your love brought me; yet the moment you came back, you lifted all of it away. When dawn lifts its head it hides every fault: all day long we quarrel, all night long we make peace.