Colour is your garment; fragrance, the waving of your hair, 

The season of roses, your appearance on the upper balcony.

.

Friends, tell us something of the eyes and cheeks without which 

The conversation in the garden or in the tavern is colourful.

.

Again, the flower blossomed in our eyes; candles burned in our hearts;

For my imagination has suggested that it go to that assembly.

.

    Stealing the heart is now considered loosening the public’s tongue;

    Now the fair-faced ones do not scatter their tresses.

.

        Now no Laila can even acknowledge being a beloved;

    In these days, the name of every beloved is infamous.

.

May the censor prosper, for through his generosity

The reputation of the drunk, saqi, wine, cup, and goblet is high.

.

The inhabitant of the garden says to us: O stranger in the garden,

You should give your desert some nice name.

.

    Faiz, those who demand fidelity from us

    Find the name of the stranger more attractive than ours.

.

From: Dast-i ṣabā (Hand of the Wind). Dihlī: Senṭral Buk Ḍipo, 1952. pp. 64 – 65