Someone said to the moth, 'Oh, you poor creature,'

Go, find a friend worthy of your own self.'

Take the path you see as one of hope,

You and the candle’s love, from where to where?

You are no salamander, do not circle the fire,

For manliness requires battle, not retreat.

The blind mole hides from the sun,

For ignorance wields an iron paw of force.

The one you know is your enemy,

It is not wise to take him as a friend.

No one will say you are doing well,

When your soul is focused solely on his work.

The beggar who asked the king for his daughter,

Was struck in the back, and brewed an empty fantasy.

How could he count as a friend one such as you,

When he holds the faces of kings and rulers in himself?

Do not think that he, in such an assembly,

Will show patience to one as poor as you.

And if he shows softness to all people,

You, unfortunate one, will find warmth only with you.

Look at the burning moth,

What did it say? Oh, wonder, what harm if I burn?

Like Khalil, a fire burns in my heart,

You would think this flame is a flower to me.

My heart does not pull at the hem of the beloved's dress,

For his love pulls at the collar of my soul.

I do not strike myself upon the fire,

For the chain of desire is around my neck.

I have always been far from such that burns,

Not this moment, when the fire has entered me.

That which the lover does in the presence of the beloved,

He cannot speak of asceticism with him.

Who dares to point out my flaws in loving the beloved?

For I am content to be slain at the feet of the beloved.

Do you know why I am consumed by greed?

If he exists, then it is right for me to not be.

I burn because the beloved is the one he desires,

For in him spreads the fire of love.

How often do you tell me to seek someone like myself?

Find a companion, a fellow soul.

It is like advising the madman,

Saying to the scorpion, 'Do not sting!'

Do not advise someone, oh wonder,

When you know he will not take heed.

Do not say to the helpless one who has lost his reins,

‘Drive slowly, O servant!’

This wise point came in Sindbad’s tale,

That love is fire, oh son, and advice, a breeze.

In the wind, fire becomes fiercer,

The tiger becomes more dangerous with its strike of hate.

When I saw your goodness, you do wrong,

For you turn your face towards me as you do with yourself.

Seek better than yourself, and count the opportunity,

For with someone like yourself, you will lose your days.

Those who seek self like themselves,

They go to the dangerous alley of the drunkards.

At first, when I undertook this task,

I took my heart from my head in one stroke.

The one who throws his head into love is true,

He is the one who loves even in poison.

Death will suddenly seize me in ambush,

It is better that the beloved takes me.

It is written without doubt on my fate,

That it is better to perish by the hand of the dear.

Will you not give your soul to misfortune for a day?

It is better to give it at the feet of the beloved.