«The moon's cold gold, / The perfume of the oleander and gillyflowers. / It's pleasant to wander in such calmness / Of a blue gentle land. Faraway there's Baghdad, / Where Scheherazada lived and sang. / But now she needs nothing, / An ancient rung garden has rung away. The faraway lands...»
«In Horossan there are such doors, / Where the porch is thrown over with roses. / There, lives a thoughtful peri. / In Horossan there are such doors, / But I couldn't open those doors. I have enough force in my hands, / And in my hair both gold and bronze. / The peri's voice is tender an...»
«The blue motherland Firdusi, / You cannot, have cooled down in your memory, / Forget about the tender Urus / And about the eyes, thoughtfully simple, / The blue motherland Firdusi. You are good, Persia, I know, / The roses like lanterns, are burning / And again I'm old about the far lan...»
«To be a poet — it means as / If one does not bestow the truth of life, / To cut oneself on the tender skin, / With blood's feelings to cherish another's soul. To be a poet — it means losing the freedom, / To make it more known to you, / The nightingale sings -- it doesn't hurt him, /...»