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.