My heart was in the fire of sorrow until he went home, he saw a flood of blood flowing into my lap, the
sun of my life sank and we did not rise from the horizon, why did he not come out of the horizon, he never blew in the morning, Falaq did not make my heart like a tulip,
open the curtain on the moon of my soul, open the veil in the sky, make the fog passive,
swear by the moon of your vision, that the heart adheres to your love, the soul is bonded to your love, swear and swear* Burn my soul ruin your sight for a while,
come and look at your beauty, be ashamed of your color and smell, be ashamed of the flower on the side of the
grass / Sit like I have a heart of blood enough of sorrow / Help the bud of the mouth of the
shining flower The radiant face of the bud in the laughter of the nightingale The cry of the women Whoever is a seeker has a heart Stop alive Oh and the
grief of the kind of fog of the growers Glory to the sixth, the toil of beading like
a seeker of the hand The game itself is like the seeker of your own hand.
