Münîrî's seven-couplet ghazal with the refrain "imiş": tear drops that turn out to be oceans, a realm found within the breast, and the pupil keeping watch at the heart's palace.
Münîrî's only Turkish ghazal rhyming in the letter sad: the İhlâs recited for escape from the chin's well, a lover who risks retaliation, and a poet who writes down her words.
Münîrî's only Turkish ghazal rhyming in the letter tı: moles as the dots in the Mushaf of beauty, a sun at the centre of the soul, and tears that outdo the Tigris and the Oxus.
Münîrî's ghazal mixing Turkish, Persian and Arabic: a face that is the sun's rising place, down falling like two lines of verse, and a final couplet addressing the heart in Arabic.
Münîrî's ghazal rhyming in the letter ayn: a beauty that lends light to the sun, a sigh that spreads secrets, an eye inventing spells, a dancing cypress and a soul's farewell.
Münîrî's ghazal in which every couplet ends with "şem‘": a candle whose tongue dries for its insolence, a lock as a wick, a mouth full of gold, and a brand seen only at the end.
Münîrî's only Turkish ghazal rhyming in the letter gayn: a garden lit by tulip candles and rose lamps, a lover who says "may you be well", and the Gulistan's parrot and crow.
Münîrî's only Turkish ghazal rhyming in the letter fe: a breast never targeted by the arrow, a lip that whispers the Qur'anic "fear not", and a fortune in conjunction with the sun.
Münîrî's ghazal whose rhymes are all Turkish words: a veil over the bride of beauty, a guest who cannot eat what he hopes for, and a rival who is a donkey's-head scarecrow.
Münîrî's ghazal dense with Sufi language: the secret of a lip that bewilders all creatures, passing beyond the self, the wish never to be sober, and a burning worthy of his name.
Münîrî's ghazal woven of proverbs: a rosebud gossiping behind the lip's back, a heart saying "stick it in your eye", a lover at the threshold, and an arrow that never returns.
Münîrî's ghazal in plain language: a lover who has no one, arrows plentiful in his breast, the saying "there is no sin in erring", and a dagger he asks to be sheathed.
Münîrî's ghazal built on scenes of dialogue: a beloved who gives an arrow instead of a kiss, a full heart that knows nothing of hunger, and a breeze flinging dust into the eye.
Münîrî's ghazal set between morning and night: pale cheeks as two trays of gold, a rose giving its leaves to the wind, and a prayer recalling the Qur'anic oath by the dawn.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-nüñ": a comb whose teeth broke for never letting go of the lock, a mad heart's incitement, a mole bearing no harvest, and the moth's fate.
Münîrî's nine-couplet ghazal on a Frankish beauty: allusions to Jesus, a lock like a monk's cord, the double sense of "çeng", and a final couplet in which the poet mentions his lameness.
Münîrî's ghazal built on the goldsmith's craft: a golden face set with rubies, jeweller pupils, a sigh as bellows, carnelian tears, and a lover pitied even by the unbeliever.
Münîrî's seven-couplet ghazal with the refrain "idicek": the dawn nightingale, trembling elms, a cypress awaiting freedom, a heart of flint and steel, and a hut of sorrows.
Münîrî's ghazal opening in the language of the market: hair and teeth that lower the price of musk and pearl, a rose petal at the beloved's feet, and a candle for all.
Münîrî's ghazal opening with "ahsen-i takvîm": speech with the Messiah's breath, curl and cheek as night and day, path dust as tutty, and a star unlit by the sigh.
Münîrî's ghazal opening with a forelock come to learn sorcery: a heart with no remedy, the veil lifted at death, a lover burning like a furnace, and a dazzled eye.
Münîrî's ghazal on the glance that ruins the realm of the heart: a thief-like glance, sigh smoke rising straight to the sky, a black-faced crooked curl and a kind wrath.
Münîrî's libertine ghazal rhyming in "-eng": a drunken lover free of shame, a last draught above henbane, stone-hearted beauties, and a closing couplet on the poet's lameness.
Münîrî's ghazal surviving only in the Vatican manuscript: saliva like a wine bubble, a heart roasting in a fire temple, a fleeting bubble, and curses as bitter as wine.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "huşk" (dry): a wound that never dries, blood dried at the sight of the rival, a dry ascetic, a withered cypress, and fresh verse against dry words.
Münîrî's ghazal also copied into two nazire anthologies: a shaming kindness, a beloved who never asks, a weeping pen, a heart jealous of the liver, and dust instead of kohl.
Münîrî's ghazal opening with a thirsting heart: the dust of the feet instead of the lip, thorns beside the rose, tears like the Nile and Aras, and the soul as a caged bird.
Münîrî's ghazal rhyming in "-eng" and opening with musical terms: a lament the harp takes as its model, heart and soul at war, stone in flowing water, and a rusted arrowhead.
Münîrî's ghazal opening with the pun "iş iden" and "işiden": a heart gone into the wilds, a curse on the rival, an unerring glance, and a poet defending his verse's secret.
Preserved only in the Vatican manuscript, this ghazal by Münîrî brings together the mirror of the heart, the languid eye, the flayed plane tree and the night of tresses.
In this ghazal with the refrain "olsam gerek", Münîrî foretells the lover's fate, from the wound of the glance to death and a return from the grave as a tulip.
In this ghazal by Münîrî with the refrain "olsa gerek", separation bends the lover like a bow, and the hidden fire in his breast at last reveals his secret to the world.
Münîrî speaks to his heart in this ghazal: seeking guidance in the light of a face, it is caught in the unbelief of tresses and betrays its "meşreb" by praising a lip like wine.
Münîrî's unrefrained ghazal brings together the drunken beloved with cup in hand, purification by tears and love's fire, the exaltation of humble earth and sighs that rise to the angels.
Münîrî writes here of a sigh that could burn the sky, salty words from a sweet lip, a rival whom no touchstone can assay, and eyes like two cruel Turks sharing one ruin.
In this short-metre ghazal Münîrî puns on the rhymes "berk" and "terk", bringing the segmented dervish cap and the renunciation of the world together in a single word.
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