Do not slacken the bow, for I am your four-feathered arrow; do not turn away, for I am single-hearted, not double-minded.
From you, the sharp sword strikes, and with all my heart, I am content; my word is like fate, neither if nor but.
If you strike with the Zulfiqar, I remain steadfast and firm; I do not flee like the wind, nor do I perish like a spark.
I surrender my soul to the sword, saying nothing of regret; for the sake of the sword's wound, God made me like a shield.
Strike with the sword, O sun, and bend the neck of the night; what is the darkness of nights but the dullness of the earth's kiln?
The body is a mine of patience, the heart a mine of gratitude; the lungs are a mine of laughter, the liver a mine of mercy.
Make my head your crown, O king, your throne; like a robe, hold me tightly to your chest.
Someone asked where love's form and hand come from; the origin of every hand and foot is love in forms.
Neither your father nor mother played love for a moment; when they became one, they created someone like you.
Love, without whose hand your hand was made, do not see it without head and hand; look with a different perspective.
The color of all faces, the water of all streams; know the pride of Tabriz, Shams of Truth, O seer.