Would there be elation and youth, the beloved and a chalice full; Several flowers and a few friends in a mellow evening. Passion be light and fire, and the heart a flaming tandoor; I would gladly give up your heavens to embrace such a life. I’d far prefer this gain because no color is at rest; Each moment, each hue of life, is your time’s helpless slave; And the mullah says, in paradise, time would be my slave – If he were somehow undone, all my troubles would end. If I find eternal youth, it would become a curse; I cherish it now as its beauty is soon consumed. An eternally full moon, an eternal sweet sixteen, Eternal youth, a river of wine, is it a reward or hell? I’d weep after this world, and yearn for the night’s crescent, And remember everyday, the thin mist of eventide. Sick of faithful houris, I’d seek a fickle beloved; Man is a hunter by nature, and revels in hunting. I would fast on revelry’s riverside, And sulk after the cupbearer’s half-full chalice. Anything eternal becomes a curse and a catastrophe; It suits only you, this eternal beginning and end. Man seeks in each new palace a new beloved; Seeks red flowers in a wasteland, seeks lighting at night; He’s lost in unending darkness, and blinded by perpetual light; He is the child of change and cannot stay the same. If you took him to heaven, this nature and this being, He’ll soon be searing and weeping with sore eyes. O lord of great bestowal, turn this world into heaven! The formula is simple, comprising these three things – As I’ve said before, a beloved, youth, and a chalice, So that my silly head is amused from time to time; And after this worldly death, endow me to the Mullah, If the wretch would be appeased by mere dreams of houris. Give me a houri here – lively, full, and fair – A loving white candle, which burns and flames In her glance myriad colors; in her nature myriad moods; With manners such as spring – now sunshine, now rain; Would she be under one skin, a harem of women; Now brimming and vivacious, now quiet and retiring; And in my tired heart, kindle restive flames, Blazing like fire and dancing like a rill, And with one impatient glance, intoxicate me so As to leave everyone amazed and the cupbearer envious. In place of those thousands give me one here; Turn my eternal youth to a few years’ rejoicing; If you cannot do this, lord, keep your fat houris; I neither need them there nor miss them here. Those fat and fair ones who yield without entreaty; Wide and hungry eyes, wallowing in malmal. Lord! My beloved lord! Just grant this one prayer, Or else, your Ghani would pine away in love.