emrôz chô har rôz, kharâb-êm kharâb
ma-g'shâ dar andêsha-wo bar gîr rabâb
Sad gôna namâz-ast-o rukû`-ast-o sujûd
ân-râ ke jamâl-é dôst bâsh-ad miHrâb
Today, like every day, we are ruined, ruined (by "wine").
Don't open the door of worry, but take up the lute!
There are a hundred kinds of prayer, bowing, and prostration6
For the one whose prayer-niche, is the beauty of the Beloved
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Comments1This poem hit me in the feels. "Today, like every day, we are ruined, ruined..." so raw, so real. I love the mention of a hundred kinds of prayer. Did the writer mean literal prayer? Or is it metaphorical for finding peace/comfort in different ways?