When I drink and come out of my self
Like a partridge let out from a cage;
My spirit rises from sorrow like
A flower lifts its head in a cemetery.
My ponderous being stays bound to the body
As I fly upon the fairy of thought;
It takes me for a visit to the seventh sky;
I seek the fount of life and the house of light.
I don’t need the cupbearer’s inebriation myself;
It just helps me guide the steed of thought –
It serves as food for its colorful being –
This spiritedness, love, beauty and the beloved.
I am kissing the eyes of my sweetheart
And urge the steed of my fancy on;
I fill my cups with the redness of sundown
And let my eyes redden with drunkenness.
How lavishly you’ve lived your life, o mullah!
You were never seared by a searching spirit;
With worship you weighed houris and gilman,
And never learned how yearning turned to dust.
Your own fire could not melt you like a candle;
You had sweet wine but could not feel the boon;
A joyous heart could not take over your conscious;
You could not bloom as a garden autumn lends to spring.
The life and search of the madman is over now;
His own footsteps lead his weary head to the grave;
Revealing its moment of color like a flower,
He washes away like a river into the sea.
Translated from Pashto by Taimur Khan