Thank God the tavern door is still open,
and the hearts of the rendan in the world
are still confidants
of the divine mysteries.
The fire of wine gave our being
to the winds of effacement,
yet our yearning heart
still burns.
The taste for madness
does not forbid the worship of wine;
the crazed heart
is still allowed to follow this tradition.
So many tales fade
from memory,
but the legend of Mahmud and Ayaz
remains etched on the seal of love.
O cupbearer, pass the wine!
The Beloved is flirtatiously ignoring us,
for in our intoxication
we are still conscious of our neediness.
Although the musician of our assembly
is bereft of self,
the heart’s ear is still captive
to the melody of the lute.
From within the vat’s heart,
Nurbakhsh heard the call to prayer.
The mullah, however, was saying,
“Wait, it’s not yet the time for prayer!”