The Wine Remaining Ghazal-10

The breeze of spring makes of The garden a wine tavern. It casts buds into jar shapes, And makes of flowers cups.

When love attains its climax, then No rivalry remains. In flitting round a candle moths Join hands with one another.

Life builds, but also burns; And what it burns it builds again. How ruthlessly it burns! How eagerly it builds!

An eagle in a cage, When he accepts food offered, Becomes so timid that he trembles On seeing shadows of quails’ wings.

O gardener, tell Iqbal To be off from the garden, For this spellbinding singer Makes men forget the roses.