The beloved’s hair is a chain of calamity’s snare,
Whoever avoids this loop knows no part of this affair.

Even if struck by the sword without hesitation or fright,
One glimpse of their face is worth my life’s price outright.

Should my life fade away in pursuit of their embrace,
It’s no loss, for my beloved is dearer than life’s trace.

The claims of lovers need no legal decree;
Their pale cheeks and sighs stand as proof silently.

The strength of the pious lies in patience and reason,
Yet reason falls captive, and patience succumbs to passion's season.

The heart enslaved, the soul bound tight,
It dares not ask, “Why this plight, or what’s its right?”

Master of existence, ruler of fate,
Their decree is just, though your complaints berate.

Unsheath the sword, pour poison in the glass,
From me comes acceptance; from my heart, no trespass.

Whether by kindness you caress or by anger you slay,
Your command is just; on me, it holds sway.

If one forgets a promise under rival’s tyranny or lover’s pain,
They are disloyal, their claim of love in vain.

Saadi says, “From the beloved, all actions are sweet;
Even harsh words are prayers when from their lips they meet.”