1. The lute complained to the strings with yearning, so they were enraptured,
And translated the meaning of the conscience, so they were eloquent.

2. My mouth has not seen one who complains like it, spreading its lament,
To gladden the sorrowful and release the tortured.

3. Take the cup, O downtrodden of cheek, drawing sustenance,
And bring it to me, your structure bloodied.

4. For I have outstripped Time in glory and supremacy,
And surpassed all people, East and West.

5. That is only because, with my happiness,
I have become close to the All-Merciful, brought near.

6. Torture is the water of rain in taste, sweetness its savor,
Leaving what it touches irrigated, greened.