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.