The sun itself hides beneath the shadow of their night-black hair,
And the tree of paradise humbly serves the grace of their slender, cypress-like flair.
That stature—no, in truth, it is the Day of Resurrection revealed,
For my rising on the Day of Judgment is bound to the stance they wield.
I am content, even joyful, with the death of my heart in this event,
For the water of life flows upon their ruby-tinted lips, ever-present.
Is it the fragrance of spring, or the breeze of dawn that softly sways?
No—it must be the wind of heaven passing, carrying messages of their praise.
My heart once boasted of wit, claiming to be a cunning bird,
Now it lies trapped in their tresses—a snare by their every word.
Unfortunate am I, ensnared all day in their beguiling locks,
And now I wander as a stranger, helpless, for they alone hold the key to unlock.
Every moment, in their embrace, my heart bleeds from anxious thought,
Wondering to whom they truly belong, as Saadi remains their devoted servant, distraught.