I am that lover of your love who have no occupation but this, for I have nothing but disapproval for him who is not a lover.
I seek no heart but yours, I hurry only towards you; I do not smell the roses of every garden, I have no heed for every thorn.
In you I have put my faith, my heart has become Mussulman; my heart said to you, “Darling, I have no beloved like you.”
Since you are my eye and tongue, I do not see two, I do not recite two, I acknowledge none but the one darling that is you.
Since I drink of your honey, why should I sell vinegar? Why should I labour for my daily bread? It is not the case that I do not possess an ample allowance.
I eat to my fill at this table of the Sultan’s sugarcakes, not as a guest of Satan; I have no appetite for lunch.
I will not grieve, I will not grieve, I will not boast of asceticism; if you think I have not abundant gold, behold my goldpale cheeks.
The Khusrau of the heart grieves only for Sh¯ır¯ın; with what heart should I grieve? After all, I have not a grieved heart.
I would explain for all, both fearful and secure alike; but I have not the heart to speak of inward words.
You who are unbranded by madness, tell me now, how are you? For I have no further traces of how and after what manner.
Since from Tabriz has come the moon of Shams al-H. aqq u D¯ın to me, I have no care for the moon of the dormitory of the commander.
