page 111 in the article:
How murderous is the false faith of
The nightingale's doings amuse the
Celebrate the breeze's freedom: everywhere
The meshes of the net of desire of
[I now think it should be "desire-net" instead of "net of desire"]
Deceived, everyone fell for its wave
Oh, the lament of the bloody-voiced
lip of the rose!
How happy is that drunken one who,
like the rose's shadow
Rests his head on the foot of the
Spring creates it for you, it's my
The perfume-like breath of the rose.
They make me ashamed before the spring
My cup without wine, my heart without
desire for the rose.
Your jealous beauty appears in such
It's mere blood in my eyes, the color
of the charm of the rose.
Even now, deceived, thinking it to
The rose runs recklessly after the
Ghalib, I long to embrace her
The thought of whom is the rose on
the dress of the rose.
p. 112 in the article:
The beloved's face calls forth
the deathless flame of the candle,
The rose's fire is water of life to
In the tongue of the knowers of tongues,
death is silence.
This shone forth in the gathering
through the tongue of the candle.
The story was made explicit by the
flame's suggestion alone:
In the style of those who have died
to the world, is the story-telling of the candle.
O flame, it grieves over the moth's
Your trembling reveals the frailty
of the candle.
At the thought of you my spirit sways,
By the splendor-scattering of the
wind, by the wing-fluttering of the candle.
Seeing me at the beloved's pillow,
Why should my heart not be scarred
by the jealousy of the candle?