O cupbearer, finally turn that pure wine

Erase existence and non-existence, tear up this boastfulness

That wine that from strength and grace and purity and joy

Uproots existence from the root like Mount Qaf

The pure wine weaves in the brain until the brain

In an instant, throws out the weaver of existence

That wine that from the oppression and injustice and pleasant infidelities

Justice and equity and religion with fairness are ashamed

Reason and planning and your attributes are like stars

From that sun-like wine, you erase the attributes

Fill the cup of the soul with that wine, behold its grace

So that it may open the eye of your soul and see those favors

The body is like a shoe, the animal soul in it like a shoemaker

How will they call every cobbler a confidante of the king?

Where does the fiery spirit have news of the light of wine?

Where is the fire of jealousy in the heart of the potter?

The sword of truth has become our Shams al-Din in the hand of truth

Bravo to that sword and hail to the swordsmith

The horse of the needs of the longing ones reaches him

O God, do not waste this journey and this insistence

It is the city of Tabriz that from the longing for him there was intoxication

If news becomes of the secret of his secret to the ancestors