God gave wine to me and you, O head

Since it is a share, what strife is there between me and you?

The wine is that rose, and the hangover is the share of the thorn

He recognizes all of them and gives reward according to (their) due

Sugar will not become sour for your heart's sake

For the place and station of sugar is the heart of sweetmeat

Since (God) has given you the role of a lamenter, make a lament

Since he has made me his musician, I wail with the oboe

Thanks, thanks, how the beloved laughs at my face!

When I look at his face, I am freed from pretense and hypocrisy

If a sour sugar comes to hand from you as well

Be greedy, O sour one, but do not increase the impossible

And if a flower in the world weeps, so that I also

May weep and make a lament like those flowers

God did not give me any sorrow except the quest for rhyme

For the sake of poetry, and from that too he has freed me

Take and tear this poem like an old poem

For the meanings are free from letters and wind and air