Ghazal 356

If it should come to pass that I may sit with the beloved,

I will drink wine from the cup of union and pick roses from the garden of pleasure.

This bitter, Sufi-burning wine will destroy my foundation —

place your lip on my lip, O cupbearer, and take my sweet life.

Perhaps I will go mad in this passion — for night to day

I talk to the moon and see fairies in my sleep.

Your lip gave sugar to the drunkards, and your eye gave wine to the wine-drinkers —

I am the one who, from the extreme of deprivation, am with neither this nor that.

Since every dust the wind brought took a share of your bounty,

remember the state of your servant, for I am a servant of long standing.

Not everyone who strikes a design of verse finds his words heartwarming —

I catch the wondrous pheasant because my falcon is agile.

If you do not believe it, go ask the painter of China —

for Mani requests a copy from the tip of my musky pen.

Faithfulness and truth-speaking are not everyone's work —

I am the slave of the second Asaf, Jalal al-Haqq wa al-Din.

Hear the mysteries of drunkenness and revelry from me, not from the preacher —

for with cup and goblet every moment I am the companion of the moon and the Pleiades.