The Wine Remaining Ghazal-31

The fervent quality of verse Comes from the heart’s ecstatic cry. This candle is alight Thanks to the heart, which is its moth.

A handful of mere dust, We had no gusto for lament. Our clamour is all due To the rotation of the heart’s wine cup.

This dark abode of dust, Which you have named the world, Is just a worn out image from The idol temple of the heart.

Sitting in his observatory, The star gazing astronomer Is looking for the boundary Of the heart’s wilderness.

Celestial beings are caught in The lasso of His glance. The Sufi is a victim of The depredations of the heart.

Mahmud of Ghazna, who Razed idol houses to the ground, Himself became a votary Of the heart’s idol house.

One more insouciant than The Muslim I have never seen. He has a heart in his breast, yet He is a stranger to the heart.