My Lord Hussain's blood

Is a flower of spring

Dying, with his forehead

He touched a stone on the way

And from it sprang

A thousand roses

O, not in words

Do I speak of my pain

In the fire of my nights my heart

Cried out for your love

O Messenger of Allah

O not in words do I speak

Of this gazelle who seized my eyes

To make them martyrs

Of her beauty

For praise that seeks its own comfort

Can be bought at every corner

But Allah cannot be bought

O, not in tears do I lament

The loss of my spirit's lover

Ali

The sweetest of all petals

Of Bustan's glowing flowers

The ectstatic rose of Karbala

For love that seeks itself

Can be bought at every corner

But Allah cannot be bought

O, my blood is not bitter

For it was offered in joy

For, if my loved one has called to the feast,

What could my heart do but follow

And what is my blood else

Than the wine of this love

O you

The arch of whose brows

Is like the arch of two arrows

Fired from the unfailing bow

Of Allah's Lion

Two swords

The like of Dhulfuqar

That pierce my heart from either side

Rise with the moon

To call the adhan of a night

Spent in the dhikr of love

That knows nothing

But love

Enter, o God's guest

Into the orchard of joy

Settle down for your prayer

On this sajada of blossoms

In those blooming willows' khanaqa

Let your heart be the nightingale

Circling love's Ka'aba

In the gardens

Of the souls' sama'a