The strand of hair dances not to the east wind but to the heart's reed; a calamity named "heart" is given to man, and the last couplet makes martyrdom a legacy of Karbala.
Münîrî's short ghazal rhyming in plain Turkish: a lock that listens to moles, an ascetic who takes a hint, an ear ringing with the rival's death, and a proverb at the close.
The poet states within the ghazal that rose and nightingale stand for beloved and lover. The rhymes come from the Arabic tafa‘‘ul pattern: taḫayyül, tefe’’ül, tevekkül, teġāfül.
Prohibition sharpens desire and Leyla's tress goes up for auction; in Amasya the poet walks the rose-walk of Karabağ in his mind and hopes for a fair name.
Münîrî's ghazal: eyelash nails for the rider's horse, juicy fruits for the pupil, watchmen of tears, a mountain that could not endure the vision, and an arrow like a red candle.
The band that plays at dawn at the sultan's gate becomes, at the beloved's door, the lover's morning cry. His sigh burns the stars like rue seed; the ground is Sultan Cem's ghazal.
Münîrî's ghazal in the "I said, he said" form: the wounding sick eye, a lip that may not exist, a love to be kept secret, and a beloved who finds the lover's life not worth a word.
A ghazal of a secret kept with the refrain "I will not say who she is": a body split like a comb, a lover burned like a candle, a shirt bloodied by the stick, a beloved with a ringed ear.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-ıdur": a cheek whose reflection is the sun, two doors into the heart, a body like a bubble on a sea of tears, and a poet who learns beauty by heart.
A ghazal that opens with a beloved gone off in a temper: moods of reproach and coquetry, a thousand words not worth a hair, a parallel couplet, and a lover undone by one look.
Münîrî's ghazal woven with proverbs: tears spent as white coin on the black lock, a heart told that he who gives the soul takes it back, and the comfort of a lasting good name.
The lover came upon a moon-faced one, and his morning turned to evening. A single glance brings disaster on his head, and the rival's breath, like bad air, gives him fever.
Münîrî's ghazal: a liver turned into a beehive full of blood, eyelashes like coral, the saying "when fate comes, the eye goes blind", and a candle that shines once its head is cut.
The breeze lifts the lover like a speck of dust to the beloved's door, so his gratitude runs "from earth to sky". In another couplet the Anka is hunted with a gnat's net.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "çeker": a heart reciting a litany on strands of hair, a drunken lock, a breeze bearing scents, the gallows, and a libertine who carries the jar.
A short ghazal of a weak lover who will count himself a champion if he saves his life: enriched rhyme, a dry autumn leaf, a waning moon of hope and bones that would hurt the beloved's foot.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-sıdur": hair black as night like Leylâ and a Mecnun heart, a lip that eats the blood-money, a brow as compass, and the poet as the eyes' price.
Münîrî's ghazal rhyming in "-îde": a rosebud-lipped cypress, a beloved chosen among beauties, wine distilled from tears, a lover like ney and harp, and a body sodden with damp.
Münîrî's ghazal rhyming in "-îne": an arrowhead hung in the breast like a mirror, the heart as a treasure chest, a gathering that is no Friday mosque, and Canopus and carnelian.
The ghazal is tied to the Night of the Ascension and names the beloved "a moon-faced Mustafa". The sky shows its moon in envy; the lover would rather see her face than Paradise.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "ider": longing for the cypress and a flood of annihilation, a life made whole by the lip, dust above the houris' kohl, and the stranger's prayer.
Münîrî's ghazal that opens like a prayer and turns to the beloved: a gleam that fills eighteen thousand worlds, a breast that is a hut of sorrows, and a wide world that is a prison.
Münîrî's ghazal woven with proverbs: a prayer for death answered at the sight of a face, the path that water cuts, and tears that, drop by drop, become a lake to drown the lover.
Münîrî's ghazal: tears and blood veiling the eye at the moment of union, a rival who throws ashes in the eyes, withering cypresses, and a lover crawling to the door like the sun.
Münîrî's only ghazal with the refrain "virür": a sugar lip that feeds the parrot of the soul, a face that polishes the soul's eye, and a beauty that leaves no need for candle or lamp.
Münîrî's ghazal without refrain: a heart settled in a Kaaba-like quarter, tears that come as guests, grief's night raid, and the poet's heart as a glass whose shards become lancets.
Münîrî's ghazal: a lover sacrificed for union who becomes a martyr at the feast, a sword like sherbet, remembrance as the key to the heart's palace, and a mote lost at night.
Münîrî's ghazal opening with the pun "emsem" and "em sem": a crescent lesser than a brow, a pistachio silent beside a ruby lip, a tale-telling tear, and pride in poverty.
Münîrî's ghazal woven with proverbs: a heart hoping for a shirt from the dead, black news soon heard, the wet burning beside the dry, and the orphan who cuts his own navel cord.
Münîrî's ghazal: the beloved as a sovereign of Kashmir taking tribute from China and Cathay, the archer Turk, a burning breast beaten with stones, and a dream fulfilled in blood.
Münîrî's only ghazal with the refrain "depredür": a lock stirring like a peacock's wing, a heart trembling like a willow leaf in a gale, and a half-dead moth still fluttering.
Münîrî's ghazal with Turkish rhymes: a rosebud-lipped cypress that becomes a rose branch, the rival's ruin as a dog's bed, a Mecnun heart, and a corner of grief fated in eternity.
Münîrî's ghazal: a heart that knows love and becomes a stranger to the lover, a ruined house turned temple of idols, a dervish's gift, and a mole that is a grain of bait.
Münîrî's only ghazal with the refrain "Hızır": a sea of tears rising over the head, an alif-straight stature, a soul-reviving lip, and a text of seven couplets joined from two manuscripts.
Münîrî's ghazal: a heart hard as a piece of stone, a rose branch like a liver torn by an arrow, moles on a white face, the black of the eye that casts into melancholy, and plain speech.
Münîrî's ghazal found only in the Vatican manuscript: puns built on the words eye and face, a shameless tear that throws the truth in one's face, and an eye that becomes a sea of pearls.
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