Ne’er a corner for the plaintive bulbul’s nest remaineth now;
Ne’er a palm-tree ’neath whose kindly shade is rest remaineth now.
Day and night some balm I’ve sought for, to relieve my wounded heart;
Ne’er a cure within the heavens’ turquoise chest remaineth now.
From its source, through every country, searched have I, but all in vain—
Ne’er a single drop, in mercy’s fountain blest, remaineth now.
Empty earthen pots are reckoned one with jewels rich and rare;
Ne’er a scale in value’s mart the worth to test remaineth now.
’Neath the earth may now the needy hide themselves, Nābī, away;
Ne’er a turret on the fort of interest remaineth now.
Nābī.
MUNĀJĀT
O Lord, to Thee is never a beginning, neither end;
Thy mercy’s ocean, limitless, doth over all extend.
E’en though the value-weighing hand of Thine unbounded might
Hath wrought astounding marvels that all numbering transcend,
Yet, Lord, Thou formedst Adam in the best of symmetry;
Thou worthy of thy grace to make this folk didst condescend.
Unfathomed and unsounded lies thy mercy’s ocean vast,
Which truly hath made earth beneath its surging waves descend:
O Lord, could any hurt or harm befall that shoreless deep,
Did thou a single drop therefrom to this thy servant send?
Since ‘Ārif owns a Master kind in graciousness like thee,
O Lord, before another’s door were’t right for him to bend?
O Lord, thus ever doth in joy thy blest device appear—
Thy greatest glory from the works of vileness thou dost rear!
‘Ārif.
GAZEL
The sun of love for thy fair cheek the heart’s core floods with radiant light;
The soul’s most secret court is filled with dazzling rays at thy sweet sight.
With union’s joys though blest one be, or though with pangs of absence torn,
Are still sad wail and plaintive cry the e’er-true signs of lovelorn plight.
Then welcome, O thou gentlest breeze, that bear’st to him who dwells
midst woe,
As news from yonder absent maid the sweet scent of her garment white.
Of gilded halls no need in sooth to libertines when wine flows free; Some ruined den beseems them more, like Jemshīd’s hut of woful site.
The sparks raised by my passioned sighs’ and plainings’ smoke are each one quenched;
For every tear that rolleth down upon my robe’s a rich pearl bright.
O ‘Ārif! this poor captive bird hath grown to love th’ entangling snare;
For curling locks to careworn hearts afford a refuge sure from fright.
’Ārif.
FAREWELL POEM
Ah, my Joy! thou’rt gone, and my sad weeping heart hast borne indeed,
And my breast by bitter parting’s raging fires all worn indeed;
Grief for thee in hundred pieces hath my raiment torn indeed;
Be thy escort on the journey tears I weep, forlorn indeed.
Thou art gone, and longing for thee makes my heart to mourn indeed;
Without thee, banquets where friends meet, all I have forsworn indeed.