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.