
Ghazal 103 — Her maḳām-ı dil-küşā kim seyr-i cānān andadur
Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "andadur": a soul lodging where the beloved strolls, a wound with the arrowhead still inside, a thieving glance that guards the lip, and a lit heart.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "andadur": a soul lodging where the beloved strolls, a wound with the arrowhead still inside, a thieving glance that guards the lip, and a lit heart.

Münîrî's ghazal rhymed in reduplications: an eye writing in blood "fır fır", a heart trembling "dir dir", tears trickling "sır sır", and a rival snarling "ḫır ḫır" after the gazelle.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-dür": a breast that is the glance's target, one beloved sought in every form, eyes drunk with morning and evening wine, and a stature like the Tuba tree.

Münîrî's ghazal without a refrain: grief that never wearies by repetition, the "Belî" given to the lock, the deadly thought of the mouth, and the heart likened to a building.

Münîrî's ghazal found only in the Vatican manuscript: a word that is salt to the wound, a pupil swimming like a fish in tears, and a false rival exposed on the touchstone.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "eyler": a sun shielding itself from the arrow of sighs, a ship rigged with eyelashes, rose conserve, and a double entendre on the pen name.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "ile geçer": the eye as a sailor living by pearls, love growing with age, tears like rosewater, and life passing as the cypress passes by.

Münîrî's seven-couplet ghazal with the refrain "eyler": a being sent as a raft on the flood of tears, a pupil bringing honey, a heart refined in a crucible, an elif bent into a dal.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-ur": a sea that sours its face, a musk deer bristling at a glance, and a rival's tears likened to the water Satan shows to the dying.

Münîrî's ghazal on the rose and the nightingale: roses turned to pieces of fire, a heart closed like marble, a heart torn like a bud, and tears moving like planets.

Münîrî's ghazal without a refrain: honey melting before the beloved's speech, stone hearts sparking under a horseshoe, an image in a hurry as if to fetch fire, and false news.

Münîrî's ghazal set in a garden at dawn: pearls scattered for an image that steps on the eye, a cypress and plane tree dancing, dew like sweat on a rose, and a list of wishes.

The poem in which Münîrî calls his own ghazal "sūz-nāk": a bud tearing its collar, a tulip laying its face in the dust, a mirror cleansed by greenery, a burning ghazal.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-dedür": tears of ruby and pearl watching for the lip, a visit at dawn while the dog sleeps, the well of the chin, and thirst for a tempered sword.

The ghazal in which Münîrî likens speech to a jewel: a heart harder than marble, tears as travellers not to be stopped, the word of love spent in its place, and "man is human".

Münîrî's ghazal rhyming on Arabic religious phrases: a heart fleeing the glance and crying "where is the escape", prayer at the mihrab of the brow, and the well of the chin.

Münîrî's punning ghazal with the refrain "-dürür": pearls plentiful in the shop of the breast, an eye bound for drunkenness, a candle under the sword, and a road of tears.

The ghazal in which Münîrî uses his pen name in the opening couplet: an old harper on the string of the soul, one and a thousand, a lock that lifts from the dust, a peerless beauty.

Münîrî's ghazal woven of garden and night scenes: a heart moaning a thousand times in a strand of hair, a lover holding a torch all night, a ruby musk-casket, an open-palmed plane.

Münîrî's ghazal built on the puns "ürer" and "dürer": a barking rival and word breeding word, a ruby casket mouth, a Kaaba street, and a breeze reciting Tebbet and blowing.

Münîrî's ghazal of witness with the refrain "bilür": the mouth as the dot of the cim in beauty, the one who bears it knows, the chopping arrow, and the fair one who knows the heart.

Münîrî's ghazal found only in the Vienna and Istanbul manuscripts: pupils learning to swim with gourds, tears with legs, the prohibition of grief, and the lock as a tethered falcon.

Münîrî's twenty-nine-couplet elifname: a love poem whose couplets open with the letters from elif to ye, called a "long ghazal" by Ersoy and woven with puns under the rule of the alphabet.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-Uz", moving by "we are": a night-walking lover, a breast that is a house of affliction, game pointed out by a dog, and tinder that needs no spark.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-umuz": a waiting beyond bounds, patience given to the wind, a gravestone that will moan until Judgement, a missed union and a week of sighs.

Münîrî's ghazal woven of popular sayings with the refrain "-ulmaz": blood not left unavenged, an orange chin no hand may touch, the arrow off the bow, the sun no mud can cover.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-Uz", only in the Vatican manuscript: the falcon of love, a village in plain sight needs no guide, tinder ready to burn, a lover patient as Job.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-maz": a ruby lip never tired of drinking blood, a tear that trusts no one else, the wise who lean not on water, and a lover burning in a Kaaba street.

Münîrî's rind ghazal spoken in the voice of "we": slaves of the Magian elder, madmen of Leylâ's lock, warriors for a Turkish horseman and moths of one candle.

Münîrî's six-couplet ghazal: tears that revive the fainting heart, a breast turned into a jewel casket by arrowheads, a drunken eye that betrays secrets, and proverbial words.

Münîrî's ghazal with the refrain "-maz": a lip that never asks, water that cannot stay in a broken pot, an ascetic drunk with pride, a rival unwelcome even in dreams.

Münîrî's ghazal without a refrain: a pain that knows no season, a sigh that lights the lamps of heaven, tears that betray secrets, and love's metaphor as a bridge to truth.

A ghazal recorded under Münîrî's name only in an anthology: the boast of the rind who studied with Ferhad, the rogue of love's tavern, the vagabond at love's backgammon.

Münîrî's dawn ghazal: a candle that longs to go out with the morning sun, a veil to be lifted at the last breath, a thankful fly, and a rosebud bringing gold for a dead nightingale.

Münîrî's six-couplet ghazal: a heart moving between rose garden and cage, a moth who would lose his head for turning away, and a dog-like rival who needs no collar.

Münîrî's ghazal mixing Turkish and Persian: a heart throwing double six at the backgammon of love's grief, a robe embroidered with tears, a fainting rebab and an arrow's "oh".
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