Because of my suffering my cause is sacred,
And the furlough is covered, forming its food.
As long as my glow follows you, the point
Of disaster is shallow and blue like the sky.
If that comes, the lover ceases science and consumes
Alcohol so that the lover freezes and admires.
To the fellow who hates me, I say a red ghazal or two,
One that is read by many who are a cruel mode.
My suffered man awaits an exhaling feud, a halo is fallen,
My suffering is a love's duty, a cause of the righteous.
This is ground to find in misty authority, a glowing mind,
One of the brainy feuds of this furlough and cause.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem