Vol. 7

Tell the sky, carry the condition of my heart to the lovers — my heart is for another. The unexpected ending: I will not ask why you left me and I do not want you to come back.

In your abode I have a different tumult from cup and vessel — the beloved's dwelling as the site of spiritual transformation, where ordinary passersby see only the familiar signs of intoxication.

O your name of grief is my song — your love is my only excuse; O white bird of acquaintance, come back to my nest; your love mixed another madness with my melody.

What wrong came from us that you locked the door and sat with enemies? A poem of wounded innocence, where the beloved's cruelty transforms even her physical attributes — kohl, lips, gaze — into sources of bewilderment.

I am a heavy burden — leave me and pass. The refrain a kind of self-imposed exile from consolation: the speaker refuses each offered comfort, including the candle's weeping, in favor of being acknowledged and left alone.

Come Again and Sit by My Side — the simplest request a lover can make. Proximity as what is asked for, not possession, not permanence — just the presence of the beloved, here, now.

O Hunter, Show Mercy — the speaker as the hunter's prey, asking for mercy. Love as capture, the beloved as the one who has set and triggered the trap.

I Will Not Say Free Me from This Cage — Bahar's prison ghazal of 1933: the caged bird does not ask for freedom, only that the cage be carried to a garden. Sung by Zahir, it became an Afghan anthem of dignity under confinement.

The beloved came into harmony — may it ever be so; her faithlessness all became faith; the scattered kingdom, like Solomon's, became whole again; every corner became a field, the world became a garden of sugar.

My tears fall like drops of rain before my beloved; I have complaints no intimate can hear; on the day of resurrection I will grasp the hem of your robe and demand the answer you never gave.