The wedding of the kings,
the celebration of the elders of the
House of the Good,
clap and stomp your feet, bring a
smile of flowers,
every night of the
fourteenth month, to the grooms nave every night,
whether the
brides smile or joy, like the bright
fog, the
lover,
why do you not laugh from the bottom of your heart,
where the lover
is so on the scale
of the Golrizoneh neighborhood
, the alley of the lights,
whatever the flagship is here
, the party of the
nightingale, the lover at
the head of the lyric branch,
all this happiness is the
envy of the rivals of
the noble marriage.
Connecting the lovers,
the bride is
embarrassed, the bride is embarrassed, she
wants to say Baala
but she cant, the
dowry is 100 gold bars, whatever you say, it is worth it,
the bride of Mrs. Baala says that
the groom is shaking, her heart is shaking
, it will be a ring, everyone
will say, Mubarak
next year, the child will hug
everyone, say Mubarak, the
bride has become a bride, from the
house of the cedar of Khoraman,
we are going to Bustan
around her pedals, everyone
dances with music and drums,
this flower is our greenhouse for
a few days,
this flower is the hand of teaching.
He cant bear to travel,
his mothers heart, his
dear eyes
, bring the water of blessings, pour
it behind him,
Lily, our companion, the
thorn of Mughalan
