Wake up from sleep. Jump.
Look: A brand new morning is coming, dancing and tapping his feet, asking for friends.
The brand new morning is coming from the sky.
O my life, why do you sit? It is time to drink wine, get drunk.
No one can get his feet loose from this world of struggle.
Get up. Clap your hands for the thought of drunkenness, the memory of a drunk.
Pick up the glass.
Know that you have surpassed the chosen tent of the great dome of the sky.
Don’t look at me as if I am an ordinary drunk.
Whatever I drink, it becomes wine.
The bread I eat turns into opium and makes my eyes dreamy.
That Charmer who is the sign of resurrection, is resurrection itself,
The One whom no eyes can see, the One whom no ears can hear,
That One doesn’t let me achieve austerity.
The Fountain of Life offered me – free – such a wine
That one drop of it grew the Garden of Paradise.
Whatever I say about the Beloved is all about the outside.
How does the soul know the secret of the inside?
How could stumpy-tailed words explain the secrets?
If His zeal didn’t close my mouth, if He let me talk,
You would see the curtains of hundreds of skies be torn apart.
What could cold, frozen soil know about the sun? Know about light?
How could created soul know Creation?
Even he doesn’t know that if he were to get even a small drop,
Its drunkenness would destroy him, would pass him out of himself.
O Tebriz, how could you know the secrets of Shemseddin?
You haven’t been out from inside the hunchbacked sphere of fate.
Divan-i Kebir, Meter 2, Gazel 98, Verses 3027-3037, Pages 189-190