Joy belongs to the beggars dwelling in the beloved’s street,
Who sit humbly on the dust of the path, hoping the beloved to meet.

I said, "Let me rest quietly in some corner, apart,"
Yet my heart refuses to sit still, always pulled toward the beloved’s heart.

I cannot find patience for the beloved’s face, you see,
The way to endure this pain is through the beloved's own decree.

Whoever surrenders their heart to the beloved’s beauty and grace,
Finds their affairs tangled like the curls of the beloved’s face.

In springtime, my thoughts drift to gardens where flowers bloom,
To sit among roses and inhale the beloved’s sweet perfume.

On Judgment Day, when dust will rise and humanity brought to view,
O wind, take only the dust of my being to the beloved’s avenue.

Saadi will not light a lamp in the night of separation,
For fear of seeing anything but the beloved’s illumination.