The arch of your curved eyebrow the Qiblah of my altar is,

The twist of your hair itself the mystery of my tension and my fever is.

If the insightful have to observe some ceremonies for praying,

Remembering your hair and your face, my ceremony is.

Whatever I saw from the rivals was all sobriety,

In the row of the intoxicated, my sobriety, my sleep is.

Within the sea of the science and action the rivals are floating,

The intoxication, the tipsy, in the result of being drunkard my whirpool is.

Everybody asks for forgiveness and mercy because of his sins,

The friend (the real Beloved) in my obedience my saviour and my penitent is.

Except this way other way I step,

Your love with my soul blended is.

Anyone from happiness and the grief receives a portion,

My essence of joy my jug of pure wine is.

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