The journey is never too long for one who seeks the beloved,
For the one slain by love lives eternally, undeterred.
When the wine of divine meaning intoxicates the soul,
In ecstasy, one tears not only clothes but even the skin whole.
Whoever gazes upon the beloved’s radiant face,
Abandons themselves, for rivalry in love is a losing race.
Do not belittle the tears of the poor and meek,
For drop by drop, rain forms the mighty stream they seek.
The yearning heart resists, though the beloved’s tether pulls tight,
What need is there for the advice of idle, futile insight?
If you see one fallen low in the dust of love’s game,
Ask the dust of their plight, not the ball who bears the blame.
Why should the devout question "why" or "how"?
If you choose to do wrong, it still feels right somehow.
What worth has any cypress tree compared to your grace?
What fragrance of musk matches the dust at your feet’s place?
Though wisdom has warned me not to yield my heart to beauty’s glance,
I ignored it—for love is like a jug against a stone, it has no chance.
Though thousands of foes surround Saadi, ever loyal he’ll remain,
For his every story begins and ends with the beloved’s name.
The tale of love is written in tears of blood, line by line,
Do not judge it by its surface, for its depth is divine.