I have become intoxicated, I will set about making a row: what of the well? I will pitch my tent in the open plain.
مست گشتم خویش بر غوغا زنم ** چه چه باشد خیمه بر صحرا زنم
Put the fiery wine in my hand, and then behold the pomp and glory that is enjoyed by the drunken!
بر کف من نه شراب آتشین ** وانگه آن کر و فر مستانه بین
Bid the fakir wait (though he is still) without the treasure, for at this moment we are drowned in the syrup (of union).
منتظر گو باش بی گنج آن فقیر ** زآنک ما غرقیم این دم در عصیر
Now, O fakir, seek refuge with God: do not seek help from me who am drowned;
از خدا خواه ای فقیر این دم پناه ** از من غرقه شده یاری مخواه
For I have no concern with lending support (to you): I have no recollection of myself and my own beard.2020
که مرا پروای آن اسناد نیست ** از خود و از ریش خویشم یاد نیست
How should there be room for wind of the moustache (self-assertion) and water of the face (personal reputation) in the wine in which there is no room for a single hair (of self-existence)?
باد سبلت کی بگنجد و آب رو ** در شرابی که نگنجد تار مو
Hand (him) a heavy (large) goblet, O cup-bearer: deliver the Khwája from his beard and moustache.
در ده ای ساقی یکی رطلی گران ** خواجه را از ریش و سبلت وا رهان
His arrogance is (contemptuously) curling a moustache at us, but he is (really) tearing out his beard in envy of us.
نخوتش بر ما سبالی می‌زند ** لیک ریش از رشک ما بر می‌کند
(He is) mated by Him (God), mated by Him, mated by Him, for we are acquainted with his impostures.
مات او و مات او و مات او ** که همی‌دانیم تزویرات او
The Pír is seeing distinctly, hair by hair, what will become of him (the Khwája) after a hundred years.2025
از پس صد سال آنچ آید ازو ** پیر می‌بیند معین مو به مو