A Wish

I am fed-up with the social gatherings of the world,
There is no pleasure in company when sorrow fills the heart.
I long for solitude, and I wish that I had,
A little cottage in the valley of a mountain

Where, I am free from worry, and live in seclusion,
With the thorn of world pain removed from my heart;
Where the chirping of the birds gives pleasure of music,
And the fountain’s murmurings are like an instrument playing;

Where the rose-bud, cracking open, delivers a message from someone;
The little wine-cup displaying to me the whole world;
Where my arm is the pillow, and the grass is my bed,
And where solitude puts company to shame;

Where the nightingale would find my face so familiar
That his little heart would have no fear of me;
Where the lush plants lined up on both sides,
The stream’s limpid water takes pictures;

Where the view of the mountain is so charming
That the water itself jumps up in waves to take a look;
Where the green grass lies asleep in earth’s lap,
And water glistens as it moves through the shrubs;

Where the rose branch bends down to touch the water,
As if some beauty were looking in the mirror;
Where, when the sun adorns the bride of evening with henna,
The robe of every flower is tinged with rouge of a golden hue.