The Wine Remaining Ghazal-07
Let me tell a secret to The servants of the king: You can make the whole world yours With a moving song.
Why pride yourself on your riches? In the city of the lovesick Mahmud’s broken heart Is not worth Ayaz’s smile.
His the pride of independence, His the wealth of poverty. One who, though poor, is no beggar Makes a king’s heart quake in fear.
You ask me where I reside: In the heart’s enchanted world, Where depressions are not so low And where heights are not so high.
Leave alone the path of reason. There are other ways to Him— Humbleness of heart, Chastity of eye.
Still imperfect on Your path, Immature through Your neglect, I have a soul half on fire, You have an eye but half open.
My prostrations have strewn roses On the idol temple’s path. Too great is my heart’s devotion For mere two prostration praying.
What pride, what humility Are there in a lovers’ quarrel! Eyes pretending nonchalance, And heart ignoring the pretence.