Why did the dawn wail turning flavescent its frontispiece?
Because of the hidden sun was it sick more than I miss?
If it were not mad like me, showing craziness in full,
Like Mejnun – over the hills – would not tear its chemise.
Does the dawn have covert spots from the parting of the sun?
Otherwise – these star-like drops – would it on its face release?
Do not say the reddish clouds ‘re sailing now in the sky,
In fact they are the bloody cotton affected by the belle’s caprice.
In the night of torment and pain – from my wail – the sky inflamed,
And the heavens used to name it: “Look, early morning this is.”
These are not sunrays you see, but because of my mourning –
It’s daybreak – with nail of stars – on its face could cause disease.
Hey cupbearer, give us now a morning wine to take delight,
So that when we leave this world the peep of morning will increase.
Be like humble, bowing flower, be like a nightingale awake,
Hey Navoi, in this garden if you want to live in peace.
