The wailings that due to the Beloved's sorrow I heave,
Is the sigh which from the burning heart I am crying.
Tell the bewitching Beloved: Take up the veil,
For due to the disunion of your moon-like face I am suffering.
Let Mansoor's cry reaches the friend,
On the gallows among the rose-cheeked I am crying.
Oh cup-bearer, pour the wine into my cup that the separation of the Beloved,
Is a heavy burden as an impediment I am carrying.
You said that a friend opens the door to a friend,
This is the new yearning I am deeply suffering.
Don't underestimate the Magian elder's cottage,
The fragnance of the Beloved from there I am smelling.
Who is the wayfarer looking for in this course?
To the alley and into the markert the Beloved I am pulling.