Ghazals

Framed by its dusky locks, your face my heart ensnares;
I burn with passion's hopes, its yearnings and despairs.

Of my eyes that glow like stars I am the helpless prey -
Torment me, sweet one, not thus cruelly ere you slay.

But rarely to the end the cup of bliss is drained;
Yet think what pain is mine who is by you disdained.

Count not your beads, I beg, hide not in prayer from me;
A lover is no bird to cage thus mercilessly.

Your beauty night and day I praise in sheer delight.
If I desist, o Lord, turn not my day to night!

You promised I might drink of Eden's gushing spring -
To me not wine - a cup filled with its waters bring.

While you repel my love, there is no peace for me.
Spurn not, o houri mine, your faithful Nasimi!

***
At love's most sumptuous feast was I with love made drunk -
Is not this why to me besotted seems the monk?

Of love I took a draught, I worship at its shrine;
Think not, a pious one, that I am drunk with wine.

Love leaves me dazed and sick, I stagger, overcome,
Whene'er to its embrace, enchanted, I succumb.

I am a drunkard, aye, but wine to me seems weak;
Upon the couch of love sweet solace do I seek.

When man, by Nature's will, did first appear on earth
A dram of love did he receive from her at birth.

Wind, water, fire and flame, the world is drunk with love,
The devil and the ghost, the serpent and the dove.

The earth, and heaven too, this would I say on oath,
So trust my words, I pray, are sots and drunkards both.

The sky reels drunkenly; the stars, half-swooning, wink -
Of love's sweet-scented wine a cupful did they drink.

And so in paradise did Eve, and Adam too,
Men, angels, houris, sprites, the faithless and the true;

Kings, prophets, holy men, Mukhtar and Suleiman,
And Noah of the Ark, and Jesus - everyone;

The Shah Mardan, Kerrar, the heathen, the devout,
Those who are firm of faith and also those who doubt;
 

Apostles, saints and seers, the scorned and the extolled,
The sages and the fools, the young, the very old.

The zealous Mufti claims his share in open glee;
The Ghadi holy one in the revelry.

The tavern-keeper drinks, the tavern haunter too,
The dervish and the priest wax maudlin o'er the brew.

The infidels, the giaours partake of love with zest;
All lovers are alike, none differ from the rest.

The outcast Angel drinks who waits at Heaven's door;
The mystic tries a sip and, thirsting, calls for more.

Love's fumes are wondrous strong, and though the cup be small,
He who doth fill it full, may reel and, stumbling, fall.

A drop will make one faint, one's limbs to wax 'twill turn,
With passion's melting fire one's heart 'twill sear and burn.

The voices in the inn are hoarse and shrill with wine;
The flute and tambourine, carousing, moan and whine.

There is a city where love reigns and lovers dwell;
Come, knock upon its gate, and enter for a spell.

No man who there abides, the morning sober meets:
The city walls are drunk, the market-place, the streets.

Alone the drunkards leave upon this earth a trace.
Mansour was right, for love doth all of life embrace.

Our hearts reflect the glow upon mount Sinai;
We who are drunk with love can happy live and die.

The Universe is drunk, for drunk 'tis meant to be -
Thus holds the keeper of both time and destiny.

The sun itself is drunk, else would it give no light;
'Tis clear to Nasimi, no veil obscures his sight.

The secret has he probed of love's mad drunkenness,
And now in flaming words his knowledge doth confess.
 

***
Two worlds within me fit, side by side,
Yet narrow is for me this world where I abide.

The heavens and the earth within me are confined
But what I am ill in words can be defined.

From nature I derive, of her I am a part,
And when of me you speak from this do not depart.

Conjectures lead astray, to guess is but to err;
Be guided by the truth and put your trust in her.

Part form and content not if you would have me whole:
I am the body, aye, but too I am the soul.

No treasure-house contains the riches that are mine,
The pearls, the precious stones, the silks of rare design.

Great, shining, wondrous gems within me lie concealed.
So heavy are my crops that none can count the yield.

Man is my lofty name. I am Mount Sinai,
Life and eternity, the world, the boundless sky.

I am the universe, the spirit, and the dream,
The banks I overflow of time's unending stream.

The stars, the silent orbs, and fate are part of me.
Be mute. No tongue can paint my image truthfully.

I am the golden Sun whose glory never wanes;
Describe me not in words, for I will burst their chains.

I am a man of weight to whom respect is due;
I am a sweet too hard for children's teeth to chew.

I give off sparks like flint, I can be set aflame,
Yet fire cannot devour this that to be I claim.

I am a fount of love; life I beget and mould,
But there is more to me than life's short span can hold.

Both youth and age am I in all their riches decked;
My treasures are too great for mirrors to reflect.

Though famed is Nasimi and noble is his name,
Yet is the man in him far greater than his fame.

(see the second English translation of this ghazal by P. Tempest)

***
Need I my throne, need I my crown, my lands and castles, tell me, love,
Need I the heart within my breast if you and I be parted love.

But if my dreams go up in smoke, then truly prayers are futile, love.
My love is dead - what use to weep, what use to mourn, Nasimi?
If love is dead, and I can live, then tears are vain, O Nasimi!

***
The sweetness of reunion will he know and bless
Whose heart was cruelly wrung by parting's bitterness.

He only who did see the moon by arrows rent
Will watch it rise anew in joy and wonderment.

The nectar of your lips he who has tasted not
Is doomed to die of thirst and share a beggar's lot.

To touch that mole of yours, I would give up my sight;
The fool who scorns my choice exists bereft of light.

Beside you precious stones are naught but clods of earth;
He will deprive himself who would deny your worth.

You are a cypress, aye, but not a full-grown tree;
A sapling's grace is yours, its tender modesty.

The sun obscures the moon, so dazzling are its rays;
But you defeat the sun - your beauty dims its blaze.

O doff these silks, I pray - your loveliness they mar:
They fade, and you remain a never-fading star.

Translated by Irina Zheleznova

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