Blessed are the moments of his love's devotees

Whether they see his wound or his remedy.

Beggars estranged from the royal court,

Patient in their begging, hoping for his support.

Constantly they drink the wine of pain,

And if bitter they find it, their silence they maintain.

The plight of drunkenness dwells in a sweet life,

The thorn's defender is the rose's strife.

Patience for his memory is not bitter at all,

For the bitterness of sugar comes from a friend's call.

The drunkards of the beloved endure reproach with glee,

The drunken camel bears the load more easily.

His captive seeks no freedom from the chain,

His prey desires no escape from the net's domain.

The kings of seclusion, the beggars of life,

Guides of stations, lost in their strife.

Who can journey to them with worldly endeavor,

For like the water of life, they dwell in darkness forever.

Like Jerusalem, with domes inside adorned,

Abandoning its outer walls, ruined and forlorn.

Like moths, they set themselves ablaze with fire,

Not like silkworms, wrapping themselves in attire.

With the beloved in embrace, they still seek her grace,

Parched lips by the stream, longing for her face.

I won't say they're unable to grasp the water's gain,

For on the Nile's bank, they thirst in vain.