The Wine Remaining Ghazal-38

Come, for the love mad nightingale Is busy singing songs. The tulip bride Is all bewitchery and grace.

O connoisseur of music, melody Comes forth from strings invisible, Not from the singer’s throat, Nor from the frets of lute or harp.

Whoever strikes the strings Of life’s lute with a plectrum is, Take it from me, A man who knows the mysteries.

I have been given knowledge of What is behind veils in the world; But dare not open my mouth, for The heavens are so perverse.

Do not speak harshly, try The way of amity. That you and I are here together is A pure godsend.

What is the destination of This dark abode of dust? Whatever there is in it is Like shifting sand.

My body is a flower from A flower bed in Kashmir’s paradise. My heart is from the sanctum of Hijaz. My song is from Shiraz.