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Gone is the time of separation,

          sorrow, pain and pining;

the heart-illuminating firmament

          turns to the heart’s desire.

We are happy and dead drunk

          in the Friend’s quarters;

We sip wine dregs at night

          and clear wine by day.

I say, “If You shall torment me yet again,

          tell me now!”

He answers, “More blame and hardship

          will come your way.”

If not for the Beloved’s grace,

          flowing tears and

heart-scorching sighs would have borne

          no results.

I was so utterly steeped

          in ecstasy and spiritual states

that to me both mid-summer and autumn

          seemed like springtime.

I praise the high honor

          of the tavern of ruin,

where, out of reverence, even the king kisses

          the threshold of that mender of rags.

Nurbakhsh, be silent.

          Why reveal the secrets of love?

Where there is love

          no secret remains.

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