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This cup contains the wine of my delight,
don’t you dare snatch it from my lips.
The mirror, joy, becomes dull and cold;
it clouds and fades as I watch.
The sun’s shining burns through the gloom,
brightens the world, chases shadows.
Loves burnishes the mirror of my heart,
that’s how I remove the rust.
Hope flies past. Reaching out, imploring,
I long to touch her radiant robes.
Desire may falter but Hope is strong
and keen and never dies.
When morning light illuminates the cup
that held the nectar at last night’s feast,
the sight recalls the night’s sharp joy,
the wine’s bedazzling magic.
Lonely, like a love-sick wanderer, I’ve
searched the mountains, never tasting
satisfied desire, the sweetness that’s
honeyed as a lover’s lips.
Makhfi: We’re mortals, made of earth.
This world seems solid, but it’s not.
Royal rank, privilege, pride: all dust.
Dust is what you are.
