The sap in the tree of our life comes from our thirst. To seek the spring of immortality is to be unadventurous.

Whom shall I tell the story of my heart and in what way? For sighs are ineffectual and looking is irreverence.

Chant your ghazals, but let the key be very low; for birdsong here is still in undertones.

Men of Hijaz have robbed our caravan of all its goods. But silence! For our friend is from Arabia.

The tree of the Turks has borne fruit because it was struck by the lightning of the West. The advent of the Chosen One took place because of Abu Lahabism.

Do not assess what I sing by the standards of Iran and Hindustan. It is a gem which is the product of nocturnal tears.

Come, I have brought from the vat of the guide of Rum the wine of poesy, much younger than the wine of grapes.