The die of your palm is in my hand

The lion of your sorrow has devoured me

I have become like Abraham in your sorrow

The fire temples are cold to me

In the dust of annihilation, O heart, gallop on

For from your galloping, dust is mine

Gallop your horse in the rose garden of the soul

For from the rose garden of the soul, roses are mine

No illusion reaches our joy

For this laughter of mine is a veil

A hundred faces are red within me

One face is yellow outside me

O cross-eyed one, give (up) both these worlds

For from your comfort, pain is mine

In your guidance, O man of seeking

On every head of the path, a man is mine

Be silent and do not seek your own fame

For from your comfort, pain is mine