-
Fills my heart with boundless joy -
-
My dearest friend, with heart and eyes
-
Brimming over with constant love !
-
-
The gardener, moving round the bushes
-
And adorning the garden, says:
-
To waft the news all abroad
-
That the Lord of Love will come.
-
-
The freshness of the yemberzal,
-
The youth of the hyacinth,
-
The bulbul's enchanting melodies
-
Are all offerings at his feet.
-
-
With honest virtue standing guard,
-
Verdure need fear no ravage.
-
Those who were busy amassing wealth
-
Will fall like autumn leaves.
-
-
How enamourned of me was everyone
-
When I was draped in blossoms !
-
And, O how stones were hurled at me,
-
When the blossoms changed to fruit !
-
-
The flower, w o is the prophet of spring,
-
Has with him four constant friends -
-
Fragrance and the morning breeze,
-
The singing bulbul and the dew.
-
-
Flowers are slaves of time,
-
But the bulbul knows no such fetters !
-
Would you like to be a gul or a bulbul ? -
-
The choice is always yours !
-
-
Mahjoor, your words, the seekers feel,
-
Are no less than life-giving nectar.
-
Were you not a serving halqadar.
We'd call you a hallowed saint !