We, carefree drunks, have lost our hearts
We are the secrets of love and the breath of the wine cup.
Many a bow of blame has been drawn against us
Until we have opened our hearts with the beloved's eyebrow.
O flower, you bore the heat of the morning breeze yesterday
We are those tulips born with a wound.
If the old Magian is tired of our repentance
Tell him to pour pure wine, for we are standing by.
Our affairs are ruined, help us, O guide of the path
For we have acted justly and strayed from the path.
Like a tulip, see the wine and the cup in the midst of things
See this wound that we have placed on our bleeding heart.
You said, "Hafez, what is all this color and imagination?"
Do not see a false image, for we are the same simple tablet.