His name was Bakhshiyar, the star of fortune

He was strong in his means and a wealthy investor

He had a house in the alley of beggars

His gold was as abundant as wheat by the measure

When a dervish sees a wealthy man in luxury

His heart burns more with the pain of need

A woman fought with her husband

At night, as she went, she was empty-handed before him

No one as unfortunate as you is a dervish

Like a red bee, there is nothing but this sting

Learn from the manhood of the neighbors

For in the end, I am not a free whore

Some have gold, silver, land, and clothes

Why are you not as fortunate as them?

The pure-hearted dervish raised his voice

Like a drum, he roared from an empty space

I have no power in my hands at all

Do not twist in the fingers of fate

No choice was given into my hands

That I may make myself fortunate