Drunken, he emerged from the tavern,
Engaged in prayer with a shattered intellect.
He cast aside the cloak of piety,
And set fire to the garb of pretentiousness.
The flame of his presence captivated hearts,
With moths rejoicing in joy and fortune.
The soul, in its weakness, cried out on his path:
"O master of realms and miracles!"
What harm comes from the blood of a humble traveler,
When a thousand kings are in awe of your face?
Truly, by your life, if it were possible,
I would meet you with a thousand lives.
Had my heart's vision relied on patience,
I would have seen nothing but the challenges of love.
What remains of life to be spent?
What is gone is gone, alas, forever lost.
Now that purity has departed in Saadi’s time,
It is me and the bitter wine of the tavern.