This is a complete ghazal attributed to Khwâja Mo’înoddîn Cheshtî:
Az pas-e-parda jamâlî mî-nomâyad kîst ân
Ân-ke yak yak parda az rokh mî-koshâyad kîst
Who is He Who shows His beauty from behind the curtain?
Who is He Who gradually removes the veils before His face?
Tâ ba-kaî chûn ahwalân bînî lebâs-e-mokhtalef
Ân-ke har dam dar lebâsi mî-nomâyad kîst ân
How long will you, like a squint eyed person, see creation dressed only in different, unrelated forms?
Who is He Who appears all the time dressed in these outward forms?
Jâm-e-maî bar kaf nehâda ‘aks-e-khûd dîda dar ân
Har zamân dar bâda-ye-mastî mî-fezâyad kîst ân
You see yourself reflected in the glass of wine you hold in your hand,
But Who is He you see each time more and more clearly reflected in this intoxicating wine?
Man yaqîn dânam ke berûn-ast yâr az shash jehat
Ânke har dam az rah-e-dîgar âyad kîst ân
I know with certainty that the Friend is beyond the six directions,
But Who is He Who comes each time from a different road?
Dar moqâber-e-khâna-ye-’eshq az matâ’î har do kawn
Har che dîd andar kaf-e-del mî-robâyad kîst ân
The wealth of the two worlds is buried in my house of love;
Who is He Who takes away all that is seen as the scum of my heart?
Gar nadâram hîch amma ‘âsheq-e-ân delbaram
Kû dehad mar ‘âsheqân râ har che bâyad kîst ân
In case I’ve got nothing, but when I am the lover of that Beloved,
Then Who is He Who gives specially to the lovers all they need?
Chûn nagîrad zolmat-e-gham sâhat-e-del shâm-e-hejr
Ân mahi kaz borj-e-jân nâgah bar âyad kîst ân
The darkness of grief at the night of separation may envelop the innermost chamber of the heart,
But Who is He Who, like that Moon, suddenly appears in the sphere of the soul?
Gol ba-takht-e-nâz o heshmat khordagîrî mîkonad
Bolbolî kînjâ ze zabân dar-ham na-khâyad kîst ân
The rose at its seat of arrogance is a frowning critic:
Who is he, that afflicted nightingale, who – though present – is not singing?
Gar ba-sûrat hamchu bolbol mahw-e-gol gashta mo’în
Ânke dar golzâr-e-ma’nî mî-sarâyad kîst ân
If Mo’în, like that nightingale, is effaced in the form of the rose,
Then who is he who is singing in the garden of spirituality?