I’m not that unrequited lover, so bitter I flee Love.

^{translated from the Farsi by Haleh Liza Gafori}

I’m not that unrequited lover, so bitter I flee Love.
There’s no dagger in my hand,
no urge to dodge a challenge.

I am a wooden board the carpenter sizes up. 
His axe, his nails—they don’t worry me.

Let the carpenter make something of me.
If I resist, let Love’s flames have me. 

I’ll be cramped and dark as a cave
if I flee the friend who finds me there.

I’ll be frustrated, dull, and barren as stone,
if I don’t step out of my petty self,
take off its tight shoes, 
and wade into rubies. 

How many eons must pass 
before the treasures I find here appear again. 
Why ignore them now?

And why not seek my noblest self?
I’m not here to be ignoble. 

I don’t have a queasy stomach.
Why should I flee the tavern?

And why fear the prince?
I’m not a bandit, 
though I curb my heart.
“Quit it! Enough!” I tell it foolishly.

My heart answers back,
“I’m in a gold mine, deep in gold.
Why flee your chance to give?”