Your face is the sign of our festivities

Come, O Eid, and bring us a gift

You are the soul of Eid, and from your face, O beloved

We have a thousand Eids in our secrets

Since we have withdrawn our heads into nothingness

Sorrow will not seize our turbans

Since we have become strangers to ourselves

We will not have the sorrow of strangers

You have atlas and fanciful poetry

We have the good thought of that beloved

The book of deceit and trickery is yours

We have the reproach of our cunning beloved

You have Eid twice a year

We have two hundred Eids every moment in our work

May you have abundant silver and gold

We have the beauty of the Creator, the Compeller

May you have limitless Arab horses

We have the Buraq of Ahmad, the Chosen One

If the whole world is festivity and pleasure

Go, world, be a friend to you, and we have our Friend

Come, O greatest Eid, Shams Tabriz

Do not leave us in the hands of this and that one

Since your silent love became strong

Speech became short this time for us