You did not learn the sweetness of youthful lips,

For hearts, like the reed, burned in the fire.

The father called out to him many times,

Harshly, he struck the reed with fire.

One night, he listened to the son’s performance,

His music disturbed and bewildered him.

He kept saying, with his face cast downward,

That fire has now struck me this time, not the reed.

You do not know why the intoxicated, in their madness,

Why they scatter their hands in dance?

It opens a door in the heart through what enters,

And pours forth the essence of the universe from the top of the hand.

It was lawful for him to dance in remembrance of the beloved,

For every sleeve of his contains a soul within it.

I understood that, like a man in swimming,

You can strike with hands and feet while naked.

Discard the cloak of reputation, honor, and deceit,

For a man is powerless while drowning in his attire.

Attachment is a veil and leads to futility,

When the connections are broken and severed from the origin.