Make the gathering joyful with those two pieces of wood

Burn the aloeswood and strike the lute

This one does not wail unless you strike its vein

And the other is good in negation and in burning

A gathering full of dust over the rubbish of thought

Arise, O sweeper, sweep the carpet of the soul

Until you burn, that incense does not give off a scent

Until you grind, these grains do not give benefit

The greatest luminary became the sun because

It has a house in the fire without weariness

The moon becomes a messenger and accountant because

It does not rest from journeys and rides

These prophets are the aloeswood of people

So that they may receive the scent of the knower of the unseen

If you are not satisfied with the scent, you too burn

So that you may become a mine, O mine of faults

When you burn, the sky will be filled with incense

When the heart burns, the revelation of hearts arrives

This speech has no limit, shorten it

Although the soul came as a rose garden from the south

Owner of the two woods, do not neglect them

Burn this one, move that one for sorrows

Whoever enters among the drunkards does not understand

Whoever tastes the wine of the soul does not repent

Take advantage of the wine, hurry and prepare

From a hangover, he tears his collars

How will you be saved if the sultan of desire

The attractor of lovers, the mighty seeker