The expulsion of beauty from a poet’s lips is akin to the labor of love.
Without Love and Pain how can we comprehend the joy of birth?
The production of wine has begun!
Fruits carefully selected and pressed;
Feelings ferment in the poet’s heart
Stored in the quarto barrel
Turn to wine in the mortal cellar
Corks unscrewed by select tasters
Connoisseurs await eagerly
Sipped in regal goblets…
Each line drenched in the spirit of the Wine
Every letter a drop
Every word a sip
Let the wine soak into each cell
Let it flow through your blood
Each vein a heavenly river
Gushing with urgency
Carrying Laila’s message speedily to the Divan;
The sacred chamber for all mankind.
Where Heaven and Earth reside
Where Love and Sorrow intermarry
A Darbar where secrets manifest
A traveller’s refuge
A seekers retreat
A lounge for discreet affairs
A monastery for the devoted ones
A drunkard’s haven
Now seat Laila’s love
Upon reserved seats
Ferment them like Majnoon did
When the New Wine is ready