THE CHAIN OF HEART
Except your rose-like face the hope to nowhere else there is,
The pain is the love pain, except you no healing there is.
I am the slave of your tress, no aid there is,
I am on the way to your abode no guide there is.
The ringlet of your tress is the chain of my sorrowful heart,
Except your visage no other cure for my heart there is.
The pure Sufi won’t go out of this tavern,
For except the lovers’ cottage, no purity there is.
Be the hermit of the idol’s abode since in the manner of love,
Kissing the Beloved’s face is not considered a guilt.
Be the servant of the Magi's elder for, at love school,
Except the cup-holding idol no other commandor there is.