It is tender, it is beautiful and benign
What passion, what passion, we are burning like the sun
It is hidden and obscure, it is an obvious sign.
We’ve fallen, we’ve fallen, it is hard to rise up
We know not, we know not, this complex chaotic design.
Hail the moon, hail the moon, it is curved like a cup
To the features and the world, it gave shape, shade and line
Dismounted, dismounted, his horse the King of Kings
Hail the dust, hail the dust, that his trail would define.
What picture, what picture, is drawn on the canvass of heart
How strange, how strange, with the heavens must align.
Be the silent jug, be the silent jug, that contains the secret
From the left, from the right, everyone is seeking that wine.
This brook has such a song, that turns our fortune’s wheel
Not of fate, not of song, neither of this clay of mine
Neither trap, nor of chain, then why do we feel encaged?
What shackle and what rope is so strong yet so fine?
Translated By: Shahriar Shahriari
April 13, 1998