There exists no heart but the dishevelled for your face.

The one who did not become mad about your mole, wise is not.

The lovelorn lover’s intoxication is derived for your wine,

Except this intoxication, from my life I did gain nothing.

The love of your face threw me in this desert,

It cannot be helped the limit for this desert there is not.

Forget yourself if you are an infatuated lover,

Because between you and Him but yourself no obstruction there is not.

If you are the love seeker, put away the prayer rug, and your patched garment,

That in this course except love no wayfare there is.

If you are really a man of mystic, leave the pious and the sufi,

For except this clan, any path for others in this assembly enter not.

I grasp her tress while playing harp,

Because the senseless mad’s behaviour, except this, is not.

Take my hand and release me from this hypocracy patched garment,

That within this garment merely the ignorant settle.

Science and mysticism are not allowed to enter the tavern,

As to the lovers' abode the wrong way exists not.

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