Delving into the clever ploys of lovers, this poem exposes their games to prolong their Beloved’s sweet discourse.

One day, around
The ‘Full Moon,’
Gathered the ‘Stars,’
In a Blessed Town.

Each word he uttered,
Flew within like a bird.

The Moon shared with them
The perpetual nature of Time.

He asked them
About the present month.
They knew well the answer,
But they kept silent.

He asked them,
Which city they lived in.
“‘You and Your Lord know better,'”
They replied.

“‘Which day is this?'”
He again enquired.
They kept quiet,
For the Moon to be heard.

How well the lovers
Pretend ignorance:
They can listen more
From their Beloved.

They present many excuses
For their desire,
Even their faults
They shall smartly hire.

All they want is to listen
More of the Beloved,
To listen to such a voice
Their hearts long bled.

The nightingale learned
The melody, from his voice.
The rose became adorable
Since it saw his face.

His love: the only worth
Of this dark soul.
My greatest fortune:
To his caravan, I belong.

He taught me
How to raise my hands,
When to You
I ask my wants.

His talk drives mad
The lovers with passion;
Even love falls in love
With his mention.

Ya Rabb!
Do I also
Not possess a heart?
How, then, for the Beloved
It could not beat?

Accept,
Hey Merciful Lord,
Accept!
My life and lines are
For Your Beloved;
None except.

On the dreadful day
When the sun shall head burn,
A single drop of al-Kawthar
May I beg you in return.

Let my heart drown
In the flood of his love:
I sail with a smile
When I am raised alive.

April 14th 2004. Edit July 2024