I am a poet—yes, that poet— I lift my pleading eyes to the sky and behold the image of fallen feathers! Absent-minded, I keep gazing far toward crimson clouds. By the gestures of a silent blue, what longing awakens within my soul! The monsoon of my chest overflows— to which vocal does it rise? In my heart surges a tide, a weeping ocean that makes even grandmothers cry. In the intoxication of dream-wine, forgetting the harvest, forgetting myself, I have kept myself mad! Through a lifetime—what riddle it was that never became my simple wish— step by step the I learn dances, alas, and riddles run along every road! —In an instant I forget the bindings of fate that govern this earth; all my life, in whimsical delight, I have kept the cup brimming! Kissing the flat earth, like a child, I quietly fall asleep upon the bosom of the sirish tree. In the olive garden i grove, across sweet fields, at the edge of pea-plots, like a parrot, in a flash— when did I come drifting here! —A boatman’s tune blends with dusk’s darkness by the riverbank; on the sandy bed, from the river’s slanting waters, smoke rises in curling mist! At night beneath lonely stars, perhaps my beloved’s ghazal practice is on tune! Here lie torn veils, a ruined bird’s nest; here dwell the sorrows of motherless children, only a crowd of widows. Some far-off sky, at the edge of twilight— it calls me at the hour of work, and calls even amid idleness!
