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Don’t be so coy — the house of my heart

          is a home for You;

whatever is, and whatever is not —

          it’s all for You.

The bewitching look of Your drunken eye

          has stolen my heart;

like a bird, my heart is ever

          yearning for You.

O beautiful idol, You are more alluring

          than any flower.

Come back! Like a rosebush, my eyelashes

          have withered without You.

Liberated from time and space,

          I am your servant;

observe how the king of the beautiful

          becomes a beggar before You.

The world is dead without love.

          Life is found only

in the glorious shadow cast by Your phoenix;1

          this grace is from You.

You’ve caused such mayhem that wherever I go

          over the course of time

all I hear from everyone is the havoc

          that has been wrought by You.

In pledging his life to Your drunken

          narcissus eye,

Nurbakhsh came to know that

          whoever has a heart is afflicted by You.

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