غزل شمارهٔ 2880

By the right and sanctity of that, that you are the soul of all men, fill a cup with that whose description you know well.

Turn everything upside down, leave neither up nor down, so that men may know that today you are in this maidan {arena, square}.

Strike the fire of wine in the chattel of shyness and shame; the drunkards’ hearts are weary of secret joy.

The time has come for you to bring back to us that departed heart, that you should set aflying our reasons like young doves.

You are speaking subtleties in the ring of dissolute drunkards; it is fine when the treasure shines out in a ruin.

Circumambulate the fermented wine among these consumed ones; place before the raw ones that fricassee and eggplant concoction.

What has become of me? You tell me, for how should I know what has become of me, your lips utter [those] words so easily.