Poem #329

At dawn Gemini placed the belt across my shoulder's line

meaning I am the king's own servant, and by oath I'm fully thine.

Come, cupbearer! My fortune's favor brought God's grace to bear

the wish I sought from Heaven has been answered to my prayer.

Pour me wine! For joy at seeing the king's radiant face once more

though my head is old, youthful longing fills my core.

Don't speak to me of Khizr's pure fountain's sacred stream

from the king's own cup I drink Kawthar's pool, supreme.

O king, should I exalt your throne of grace to heaven's height

I'm but your presence's slave, a beggar at your gate's light.

For a thousand years I've sipped wine at your banquet's royal spread

how can my habit-formed nature abandon what it's fed?

If you doubt this servant's tale and think my words untrue

I'll bring proof from Kamaal's sayings to convince you.

If I uproot my heart from you and cast away your love's sweet fire

where could I throw that love? Where take that heart's desire?

Mansur, son of Muzaffar the warrior, is my sacred amulet's claim

through this blessed and fortunate name, over foes I rise in fame.

My primordial covenant was pledged to the king's love sublime

from life's royal road, I pass true to this vow through time.

When heaven arranged the Pleiades for the king's glorious name

why shouldn't I string pearls of verse? Am I lesser in this game?

Like a falcon, once I tasted prey from the royal hand so fine

when would I ever stoop to hunt for common doves as mine?

O lion-hunting king, what harm if in your shadow's blessed sphere

I find the kingdom of tranquility, peaceful and clear?

My verse, blessed by your praise, unlocked a hundred hearts' domain

as if your sword became my speaking tongue's refrain.

If I passed through gardens like the morning breeze's flight

I had no love for cypress tall or pine tree's height.

I caught your fragrance on the wind and remembered your face so fair

the cupbearers of joy gave me a cup or two to share.

A grape or two won't intoxicate this servant you employ

I'm a year-worn elder, tavern-bred, who knows wine's deeper joy.

The heavens judge me harshly by their stars' unkind decree

may the king's justice be my helper in this story.

Thanks to God! Again at court's exalted height I stand

the throne's peacock hears the fame of my royal standard.

Erase my name from love's workshop and lovers' sacred scroll

if any work besides your love should occupy my soul.

The lion cub attacked to hunt my heart with fierce intent

though I am thin, I'm still the mighty lion's quarry sent.

O lovers of your face, more numerous than atoms in the air

when will I reach union with you, smaller than a particle's share?

Show me who denies your face's beauty—let me know their name

so I can pierce their eyes with jealousy's fierce arrow's aim.

Upon me fell the shadow of sovereignty's bright sun

now I'm at ease, free from the eastern sun's harsh run.

This transaction's aim is market skill and clever trade

I sell no beauty's show, nor buy coquetry displayed.