From the sweetness that exists in his anger and insults, I struggle every night with his bloodthirsty eyes.
If the traps of his love break my wings and feathers, the parrot of my soul will not be broken from his sugar and almonds.
Why do you ask me about the terror and nights of separation? Tell me, where does the night remain in the prosperity of his days?
Our blood was like wine, and its effect came from the fact that blood becomes wine when it enters his cup.
His raw promises have boiled in the essence of the soul; see the mature lovers from his raw promises.
See the kings on the throne of power who envy the meeting of the lovers slain by his infamy.
Those dogs of his alley have become kings and lions because such a seductive gazelle was seen on his rooftop.
Oh God, oh God, do not ask about the qualities of wine from those who are with themselves; see in the eyes of the intoxicated the general kindness of him.
Put your hand on the veins of the intoxicated, dear, so you may understand from the mouths of the polluted ones that self-willed wine of his.
Shams of Tabriz, whose step was upon the spirits, do not step; bow your head at the place of his step.