O water-master, open that flowing spring

So that eyes may open from the blossoms of the garden

The water of life of your grace is in the darkness of two eyes

From that pupil, like a sea, it has made the eyes

No one ever dances until he sees your grace

For in the womb, from your grace, there is dance for the children

What is in the womb and what is in non-existence?

For in the grave, from your light, there is dance for the bones

On the screens of this world, we have danced a lot

Be quick, O friends, for the dance of that world

When souls dance with the heavy bodies

Especially when it breaks this heavy body

So from the first birth, we were foot-stamping

In the darkness of the wombs, for the sake of thanking the soul

So we are all Sufis, arrived from the monastery

Dancing and giving thanks for this free gift

If we give our lives for this gift, it is free

What indeed is the life of a Sufi for this worthy treasure?

Since the table of this world has the sky as its cover

What shall I say of the table of the Truth? The tongue would be afraid

We are the Sufis of the path, we are the drum-eaters of the king

Keep this bowl and table lasting, O Lord

In the bowls of kings, there is no bowl like our washing bowl

Every raw one will not comprehend this bowl and bread

From the bowls of blessing to the polluted bowl

What difference is there before the fly? That is the shame of the host

And the one who is someone, he, un-eaten and un-tasted

Sometimes bites his tongue, sometimes strikes his mouth