Life
At times he does not know where to flee,
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
At times he does not know where to flee,A sorrow suddenly gnaws at him from within.His strutting about torments him,His being carried away torments him.He feels ashamed of the water he drinks,His grief grows with the thoughts that pass.He is ashamed of stretching out his legs,He is ashamed of roaming the world.For two reasons his state is like this,Asking fairness for his heart, his state is like this:One is that blessings have buried him,All kinds of adornments poured down like rain.But unable to give thanks, this servant is disgraced,Unable even to think, he stands weeping.There is another reason for his shame,For his heart's suffering in grief —How can one who says, “I love God,”Be unable to leave the world?!Not going to the Beloved, amid separationsDo you live resigned, O black-faced one?!But while saying, “My Beloved is God,”Being always like a false lover,He is boundlessly ashamed even of living,Unable to live as his Beloved commands, alas.
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