Chaak ki khwahish agar wehshat ba-uryaani kare

If this frenzy longs to be stripped bare, let the heart’s wound, like the dawn, tear its own collar open.

Such is the world your splendor reveals, that to imagine it would make the heart's own eye a shrine of pure astonishment.

My heart despairs, O Lord, of even being shattered. How long must this crystal boast of its stubborn life before the mountain?

If the tavern shatters from that playful, drunken glance, let the fine-haired crack on the glass form an eyelash for the goblet’s eye.

Love used the line of your cheek to write a pact with your hair: that I accept, at once, all its tangle and its turmoil.