We are love-born and pain increasing,
With the claimant hermit of the mosque, we are fighting.
We did not make any agreement with the rivals to find him,
With the unaware we refused compromising.
Within your fire khalil-like we were crawling,
We are the unique and noble in your bode for the lovers' abattoir.
Intoxicated and immoderate in the tavern we mixed with the drunkards,
In idol temple with the idle-stricken we are united in a manly way.
In the circle of self-lost ones, we resemble red roses,
In the leech-natured ones we are with the yellow face colouring.
Being sickly we joined the dishevelled-heart ones,
We are ice-cold among the scholarly.
Against sufi, calandar and darvish we are fighting,
Coupled with the intoxicaded, the lost ones we are wandering.
We keep our states inside, we keep ourselves to ourselves,
We, the homeless ones, are afflicted by pain.