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Şeyh Galib

(1757-1799)

You’re my Lord; what merit in me reside is due to you.

If I’ve fame among the Lovers, that beside is due to you.

 

You’re what makes my living plenty, you're my spirit’s revenue;

In the ledger of my life the profit-side is due to you.

 

To this insubstantial form your beauty’s colour lends allure;

I’m garden of illusion, my spring-tide is due to you.

 

Under your domain the cruel Sphere has grieved me not a whit;

Nay, my Sun of Radiance, that woes betide is due to you.

 

Longing for you, I am moth-like; you’re the candle of desire;

That I Nightly seek the kiss of suicide is due to you.

 

I7m a martyr to your love, my breast a tulip-bed of wounds;

That my tomb’s lamp-lit, my frave with candles plied is due to you.

 

Who beholds my aimless course would think a desert whirlwind blows;

I’m impermanence itself; that I abide is due to you.

 

Though it was your dangling gem, why did you cut it thus adrift?

That the mirror of my heart through dost’s described is due to you.

 

Crimson as the davwn you madem y cup with tears of blood, my Love;

That the morning-after I am sick inside is due to you.

 

Mevlana, in you alone does Galib seek a refuge stil,

That upon my head I Wear a cap of pride is due to you.

(Translated by John. R. Walsh, 101Poems by 101Poets An Anthology of Turkish Poetry)