THE HEART’S WITNESS
Taking cup from your delicate hand is not a sin,
Except upon your abode oh! friend no other shelter there is.
The doors of the hope are closed to me from all directions,
Except the door of the tavern no hope of finding any way.
The one who sips the wine of your love,
The whole universe to him is nothing but a blade of straw.
If you don’t glance at the circle of the rogues,
Swear to your glance that in that circle no glance there is.
Sacrifice one’s life to the wine-selling idol in whose opinion,
The existence and nonexistence, slave and king there is not.
As you are the unique expert, pay attention,
To the patient whose pain but sigh and sorrows, there is not.
I am in love, the sore-hearted lover due to the beloved’s separation,
In my hand except the sorrowful heart no other witness there is.