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.