IN FINE FRENZY
O pious man, waste not your wordson me,
I am a drunken poet, I detest your knowledge, your piety.
I am a nightingale singing in the garden, dancing in clay abode,
You are an actor singing and dancing on the pulpit of gold.
Come! I want to tell you the love story of my infinite love
When my beloved removed the veil of her face in paradise,
In a rapture of love, I left nymphs of heaven, garden of Eden,
And became a slave of her curly locks; long eyelashes,
Her cage freed me from the snare of fortune and fame,
Her aromaticmemory is candle flame of the room of my heart,
Her beauty-mole, radiant face, rose-bud lips blessed me with bliss.
I am like a candle burning in fire; I have torn to threads my shirt,
I am now a beggar of the king of saints, whole earth is my state.
A very impressing poem, as oft you do and you did. Thank you for sharing this lovely Song of the beggar of the king of saints. Mesmerizing! ! 9 Jul by Sylvia FC
Appreciated most your great honest words full of devotion. I like sheer poetry very much.9 Jul by Sylvia FC
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem