I had intended to sacrifice my life to the beloved,

I have no life of my own to sacrifice her.

I am in the arms of an idol, a cup of wine give,

So that out of it to the Yosef of Kanan a reward I give.

When I become the servant at the door of the wine-selling idol,

To the commandor of both worlds commands I will give.

About my soul’s dishevelled due to her disunion, ask not,

For that dishevelled tress, head and soul I will give.

Oh Ascetic! don’t talk about the paradise’s garden and hour’s visage,

The curve of her tress for a hundred gardens of paradise I don’t give.

Oh the Sheikh of altar! You and the promise of the paradise,

The beloved’s coquetry cheap I ought not to give.


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