I closed my eyes to the world when I saw his beauty, becoming intoxicated by his grace and giving my soul.
For Solomon's love, I became all wax, and to become light, I molded myself.
I saw his wisdom and cast aside my own crooked thoughts, becoming his flute and lamenting at his lips.
He was in my hand, yet blindly I sought him; I was in his hand and asked the ignorant.
I was simple-hearted, either drunk or mad, fearfully stealing from my own gold.
Like thieves, I went to my own vineyard through a breach, picking jasmine from my own garden like a thief.
Stop and do not twist my secret around your finger, for I have twisted much from your tangled grasp.
Shams of Tabriz, from whom the light of the moon and stars also comes, though I am weak from his sorrow, I am like the crescent of Eid.