In the heart of anyone who has no trace of this love

Draw a cloud over him, for he is nothing but an enemy of the moon

O dry tree that has not grown in that garden

O lowly dear one who has no shade of this tree

Wash your hands of everything but this love, if you are an orphan

Because you have no kin and father but this love

In the religion of lovers, death is a disease

Every soul that is not worse off from this suffering every day

In the face of anyone you see that color

Know for certain that he is not of the human race

Every reed you see with the waist of love in its midst

Embrace it tightly, for it is nothing but a tight embrace of sugar

When Shams of Tabriz, the truth, has drawn you into his trap

Do not look left and right, for there is no possibility of escape