Nafas na anjuman-e-arzoo se baahar khainch

From hope's assembly, draw no breath but fire; If wine's denied, then you must claim desire.

Don't ask how hot the quest for vision burns; From my thorn-mirror, you must draw its fire.

This wait, my heart, you use for your repose; Who signaled you to let your spirit tire, And from the bed of ease its comfort hire?

The narcissus now gazes, filled with sighs; To blind the rival's heart and jealous ire, The cup of vict'ry you must now require.

With one half-glance, fulfill your graceful vow; From my heart's wounded sheath, a living pyre, The dagger of your glance you must require.

My cup contains a wine of hidden flame; So on my cloth, to feed my soul's desire, The salamander's roasted heart require.

Don't say you lack the strength for union's shame; If this is chaos' essence, sweet desire, Then drink it deep, and once again require.

The mirror of my madness longs to see; Upon my page, a scripture of desire, With fairy's wing, the ruling lines inspire.

Asad, if from the Saqi's debt you tire, And all you gain's a hangover of fire, From your own molten heart, its cup acquire.