We drank wine from the Cupbearer
At an inn higher than the sky.
Our souls are goblets in His hands,
Deep in His ecstasy we lie.
At our private place of meeting,
Where our hearts are scorched with yearning
Like moths, the sun and the moon ring
Our candle whose flames rise high.
Yunus, don't tell these words of trance
To those steeped in dark ignorance,
Can't you see how swiftly the chance
Of ignorant men's lives goes by?
