The door of the tavern to everybody is open still,
The sore-heart is still suffering.
In this intoxication and inebriety there is love,
Knocking at the door of existance because of exigency is still.
Seperation from the Beloved is inevitable, be silent!
As the servant at her door is kind to the inferior still.
Don't reveal confidence except to the intoxicated Beloved,
Because in this stage she is condidant still.
Give up the greediness and vagaries,
The lover's hands towards her is stretching still.
I, the broken-heart, am not able to reach the beloved,
I can do nothing as she is still acting coquetry and coying.
Oh! The morning breeze! If you pass through her abode,
Take away the perfume, as she is perfume maker composing still.