Lilies grow in swamps and love appears in the ruins
Wine simmers in vats and hearts churn in the presence of the precious ones
Lovers loathe separation, the sweethearts shun the immature lover
Poppy flowers dance in the wind, while flames dance with moths
The narcissists talk about themselves, those in love adore the lovely ones
The ascetic fears hell, and the rational dread the mad
The mullah knows about paradise, but our Master is intimate with a bowl of wine
The former chases fantasies, the latter is occupied with goblets and chalices
It is written that the world emerged from nothingness in six days
Our Beloved is found in the heart, not in obscure fables
Those who have lived in the state of certainty, not entertaining doubts all their lives
How could they know the state of us who have become wanderers, and have lost our reason?
To see your face in the realm of the heart, o bright sun of my soul
I bestow light on lovers and have become intoxication itself
