In this ghazal Münîrî likens his tears to stars counted on a sleepless night, his bloody lashes to needles reddened in the heart's fire, and curl and cheek to a moonlit night.
In this ghazal Münîrî teases the ascetic by saying the preacher's cold words have turned the mosque into an icehouse, and speaks of a journey within the city of the heart.
In this spring ghazal Münîrî plays on çeng (harp) and ceng (war) to describe a drinking party and the war of separation, and brings the beloved to his hut of sorrows.
In this ghazal Münîrî plays on hezâr as both thousand and nightingale, and portrays a rose kneaded from blood, a rose-king scattering gold and a penniless nightingale.
In this ghazal Münîrî portrays a mounted beauty riding in anger, tears watched like stars in a sea of sorrow, and a moon reduced to a single section beside beauty's mushaf.
In this ghazal with the refrain üzre, Münîrî sets the dust of the beloved's door upon his eye and likens her face, covered by her curl, to the sun eclipsed in daytime.
In this ghazal Münîrî likens the beloved's cap to a sign of the zodiac and her cheek to a lucky star, questions the dawn breeze's cold breath, and calls her mole a lucky slave.
In this ghazal Münîrî shows his tear, raised like a dear child, turned beggar, the water of Zemzem sinking into the ground for shame, and a fame that spreads over the seven climes.
In this ghazal Münîrî describes the uproar a drunken eye brings to the realm of the heart, a beloved who values two worlds less than a mustard seed, and a sigh that lights the sky.
In this ghazal Münîrî counsels friendship with grief, calls for living in the moment with "dem bu demdür", and says a hair catches on his pen as he writes the beloved's fine traits.
Quoting "nefaḫtü fīh" from the sura al-Hijr, Münîrî defends the life-giving lip of the beloved against the jurist, and blesses the realm of contentment in an Arabic line.
In this ghazal Münîrî speaks of a window from heart to heart, the soul's bird choking on the smoke of sighs, and the human eye that only a handful of earth can fill.
In this ghazal Münîrî shows the heart that, like a startled bird, never returns to its nest, a tear like wine filtered through charcoal, and a plane tree whose hands are cut off.
Münîrî builds every couplet of this ghazal on the sounds "dil eme" and "dileme"; the beloved's lip becomes the heart's remedy, and the lover feeds on his liver's blood.
Münîrî plays in this ghazal on "âl" as guile, lineage and red; he describes the guile of black eyes, the fall of the heart's fortress and the twilight reddened by bloody tears.
Münîrî brings together yas (mourning), Yâsîn and yā (bow) in one cluster of sounds, speaking of a forelock dressed in black and lovers who die before the Yâsîn is read.
In this ghazal Münîrî shows a lover seeking a dream about repenting of the ruby cup, a heart turned to stone, and the mocking reply he gets when he asks for sugar against a hangover.
In this ghazal Münîrî speaks of a mole steeped in the water of life yet thirsting for blood, rosebuds amazed at torn collars, and verse that pours pearls onto his divan.
Münîrî plays in this ghazal on yarın (tomorrow) and yār (beloved), likening the lip to a parrot with sugar and the green down to a court deed recording a confession.
In this ghazal Münîrî shows an eye that would make a salve from the dust of the beloved's road, and silences the gossips with the proverb "the dog barks, the caravan moves on".
Münîrî opens this ghazal with a pun on wound and split, and speaks of glances shooting at a sparrow, fate blackening black earth with black blood, and a candle on the night of union.
Münîrî likens roses to the fire of Moses and arrowheads in the liver to rosebuds, speaks to the golden belt at the beloved's waist and laments skill without fortune.
Münîrî likens the green down to Hızır reaching the water of life, the fairy's plumes to a hümâ spreading its wings over Solomon, and a tress on the cheek to a hyacinth's shadow.
In this ghazal Münîrî commends the heart caught in the tress to God, and speaks of arrows turned to cypresses shading his tomb and a kiss asked as the alms due on beauty.
Münîrî tells of a life used up in separation and a crooked sky, likens the lover to the ney with its wounded breast, and says union comes by God's gift, not by reason.
In this short ghazal Münîrî rhymes "kılca" both as "a hair's worth" and "thin as a hair", and with a pun on heart and tongue urges the lover to keep walking the road of love.
In this ghazal Münîrî joins "derdine" and "derdi ne" in the rhyme, likens his tears to children running after a mad heart, and opens his pain to a fellow sufferer.
Münîrî contrasts the cypress that shades flowing water with a beloved indifferent to his tears, recalls the morning and night cups, and likens the dawn sigh to an arrow.
Münîrî's spring ghazal with the refrain "şükūfe" plays on "bār" as load, at least and occasion, and likens blossoming trees to wedding nahıls adorned for the bride of the meadow.
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "tāze tāze" rhymes "hevā" as both breeze and desire, and likens his yellowed face to fresh ambers offered to the beloved.
In this ghazal Münîrî lifts the bird of the heart beyond the falcon of the Sidre, and tells of the jealous heart, the cloister of the passing world and tears that quench separation.
Münîrî likens the beloved's Turk eye to a conqueror seizing the heart's realm, its gazelle eye to prey striking a lion, and sets the rival's oath against an infidel of Rumelia.
In this ghazal Münîrî tells of a heart that would sew up the eye with lash-needles to keep its secret, a soul seeing off a guest, and a poet begging with his divan in love's bazaar.
In this ghazal Münîrî sends his eye's greeting to the door by his tears, likens his heart to a coal hidden under ash, and ascribes Zemzem's lying underground to its shame.
In this ghazal Münîrî joins "taşa" (to stone, to overflow) and "yaşa" (to tears, live) in punning rhymes, and ends with the prayer "may you live a thousand years" said to the bereaved.
In this ghazal Münîrî rhymes "gül-nār" (pomegranate blossom) with "gül nārı" (the rose's fire), begs the beloved not to defer the promised death, and tells of a soul come to the lip.
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