kahan talak kahoon saqi ke laa sharaab to de

How long must I plead, Cup-bearer, for wine? Then bring it near! If not the wine, then soak a kebab in it, and grant it here.

My heart's fire will die, O tears, if you just grant me water's grace; The world is its own blaze; then give me torment in this place.

Let so much water pass my head, just grant this rising tide, That even the heavens seem a bubble where I now reside.

How will a thousand thirsty souls find solace from their grief? For God's sake, whet your sword of cruelty, and grant me that relief.

The mole upon your brow's horizon makes this one decree: "At the moment of choice, grant such a perfect, singular decree."

The gate of grace is open; keeper, don't you bar the way; Just let my prayer for goodness be accepted, grant it now, I pray.

The narcissus bud unfolds with airs inside the garden's view; Just show to it, for once, your eyes, still heavy with the dew of sleep.

No matter if you will not come, but let your servant be sent, To grant me some small comfort in my hour of discontent.

The dust of those your tresses slew now spins in a cyclone's heart, So even after death, you grant their twisting torment's art.

Let my heart's burning not be cooled by all the tears I weep; But grant the fire of your own rage may finally fall asleep.

O executioner, don't strike yet, don't be so swift to kill; Beneath the blade, just grant my trembling restlessness be still.

The prey bound to your saddle-strap, so helpless in its plight, Was not even granted a kiss upon your stirrup in the light.

O drinkers, don't forsake my scorched heart, left upon the fire; The flavor that it holds, no roasted meat could grant desire.

Who, lost in drink, can keep a count or settle the account? The kisses that you owe me, grant them in a measureless amount.

If there's no answer to my note, then place her letter there, So in the grave, I'll have a word to grant the questioner.

The river never has the heart of those with daring souls; It cannot even grant a bubble's cup the water that it holds.

My heart's fire is not quenched beneath the dust where I now lie; Tell the wind to lift a cloud's dark hem, and grant it from the sky.

If one cold sigh from a cold heart should fall on hell's domain, It would, for once, subdue the fire, and grant it quenching rain.

She'll slay you with her kohl-dark eyes, O Zauq, that is your fate; Just let the sword-glance of her gaze acquire that dark-hued state.

I will arrive at ruin's final stop, O Zauq, I know the way; To leave my mark, a footprint, grant my feet this final clay.