Reason is a bird from our nest; Galaxies are some dust risen from our doorstep.
The world-illuminating sun, the sovereign of the East, Is an ornamental image on the ceiling of our hall of mirrors.
The blood you see in the eye of the horizon at sunset Is the sips of our nocturnal wine.
What we hunt is no one but the hunter; Our trap is the same as our bait.
Our arrow pierces through the armour of the firmament, For our target is the heart of the universe.
No charm can lure us away from the path Since the two worlds are full of our fascinating tale.
Though with the people of the time we are not happy, Happy are those who live in our time.
If there exists a paradise, it lies in the dust of his doorstep, Where we have our eternal abode.
Khajoo, now our songs are sung All over the world with the music of our fame.
Translated into English by
Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent. Copyright© 1999 K. Kianush, Art Arena |