Last night, our elephant remembered India again, tearing the veil of night with madness until dawn.
Last night, the goblets of the cupbearer were all filled to the brim; O you, whose life is like the wind until the Day of Judgment.
The wine was boiling from him, and minds were intoxicated by him; parts and wholes, thorns and flowers are happy from his beautiful face.
The sound of the revelers' cheers reached the sky; in our hands was wine, and in our heads was the wind.
In the heavens, there were hundreds of thousands of uproars from them; there, hundreds of thousands of kings were in prostration.
The day of victory and fortune was embedded in our night; suddenly, such a day was born from the night of the brothers of purity.
The sea surged, and the sky found a sign from this night, proudly placing that sign on its head and face.
Whatever was blocking the paths with darkness was opened by the divine light of mercy.
How can sensory obstacles remain in that air? How can one remain who finds this desire?
Start life anew, O Muslims, for the beloved has created the reed bed and given justice to the lovers.
Our beloved has excused the fallen from now on, for wherever he is, the cupbearer leaves no one on the straight path.
The surge of the sea of grace, O Muslims, has broken the pomp of striving and the charter of belief.
That grace was from King Salahuddin, who is a Joseph; even the dear of Egypt must be his buyer in the auction.