Of these thousands of me and us, oh wonder, what am I?
Listen to the clamor, do not put your hand on my mouth.
Since I am out of hand, do not place a glass in my path,
For if you do, I will step on it and shatter whatever I find.
Because my heart is every moment dazed by your thought,
If you are joyful, I am in joy; if you are sorrowful, I am in sorrow.
If you make bitter, I become bitter; if you show kindness, I become kind.
With you, it is pleasant, oh idol, my lips are sweet with sugar.
You are the essence, what am I? A mirror in your hand,
Whatever you show, I become, a mirror tested by you.
You are like the cypress of the garden, I am like your shadow,
When I become the shadow of the rose, I pitch my tent beside the rose.
Without you, if I pluck a rose, it becomes a thorn in my hand,
But if I am all thorns from you, I am entirely roses and jasmine.
Moment by moment, I drink the goblet of blood from my heart,
Every breath, I break my own pitcher at the door of the cupbearer.
Every moment, I reach for the collar of an idol,
So that it scratches my face, so that it tears my shirt.
The kindness of the heart and religion shone in my heart,
It is the candle of the heart in the world, who am I to extinguish it?