Our beloved, our comforter, the knower of our secrets

Our Joseph in appearance, the flourishing of our market

In the breath of this year of ours, our lover came last year

We are destitute, and you are our treasure, our gold coin

We are lazy, and you are our pilgrimage, our struggle

We are asleep, and you are the fortune of our awakening

We are weary, and you are the balm for our sick

We are ruined, and you, out of your generosity, are our architect

Last night I said to love, 'O king of our touchstone'

'Do not be refractory, do not deny, you have taken our turban'

Then he answered me, '(This) is our doing because of you'

Whatever you say, it will echo back, like the sound of our mountain

I said to him, 'Who are we? This sound is our speech'

Because no one has any choice, O our chosen one

He said, 'Listen first to a glimpse of our secrets'

'Every lean mule cannot carry our burden'

I said to him, 'Take away from us the trouble of our news'

Make a drunken nightingale even from our bittern

Your existence is our pride, our existence is our shame

See Ahmad and the truthful one in our heart like a cave

Not every wine will be drunk by our intoxicated, pain-eating one

Our sweet-beaked bird eats food from the king's hand

When our decaying body sleeps in the grave

Our flying parrot will be freed from this cage

Our wise bird will know its own place

After us, you will make our traces appear on the earth

If we are in the garden without you, our rose garden will become thorns

And if we are in prison with you, roses will grow from our thorns

If we are in the fire with you, our fire will become light

And if we are in paradise without you, our lights will become fire

Because of you, our raven and our starling have become white again

Enough, and say no more, for this was our speech