A wise man in the far reaches of Syria

Took residence in a corner of a cave

With his patience in that dark corner

He found the treasure of contentment

I heard his name was Khodadoost

Royal in spirit, human in form

The greats bowed at his door

Yet his head would not enter through doors

The pure-hearted mystic would plead

In seeking alms, abandoning greed

As each moment his soul would say 'give'

It would humiliate him village to village

In the land where this wise old man was

There was a tyrannical governor

Whoever weak he caught

He would crush with his power

World-burner, merciless, senseless killer

The world frowned at his bitterness

Some fled from that oppression and shame

They took his bad name across lands

Some stayed, poor and wounded

They followed the cycle of cursing

Where the hand of oppression extends

You won't see people's lips smiling

The tyrant would occasionally visit the sheikh

But Khodadoost would not look at him

The governor once said: O fortunate one

Do not turn away from me in disgust

You know I have friendship with you

Why do you have enmity towards me?

I admit that I am not a leader of the country

In honor, I am not lesser than a dervish

I do not claim to place virtue over anyone

Be with me as you are with everyone else

The wise mystic heard these words

He got angry and said: O ruler, be alert

Your existence is the cause of people's distress

I do not wish for people's distress

You, who are my friend, are an enemy

I do not consider you my friend

Why should I falsely call you my friend

When I know that God is your enemy?

Do not kiss my hand like a friend

Go, befriend my true friends

If they tear the skin off Khodadoost

The enemy of his friend will never become his friend

I wonder at the sleep of that stone-hearted one

When people sleep distressed by him