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I’ve spent my entire life worn out

          on the path of Your love;

I have laid my head on the threshold

          of Your tavern.

I’ve sat awaiting a glance

          from You;

I languish, craving a mouthful

          from the wine cup.

I am not afraid to deal with Your flirtatious glance,

          but I have lost all my neediness.

I’ve thrown my being to the winds

          in the lane of Your love.

If the man of reason mocks,

          he is unaware

that we live through love, having been born

          through Your love.

O Royal Rider, do not turn Your face

          away from me;

Without a knight or a queen,

          I’m just a beggar pawn.

Every moment You play

          a thousand different roles;

have mercy on me,

          as I am just a simpleton.

Look upon Nurbakhsh

          with mercy —

but for Your own pleasure,

          since I am bereft of choice.

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