Last night I saw the angels knocking at the tavern door.
They took clay of Adam and shaped it into a goblet.

From behind the veils of the sanctuary of the pure
they passed me a strong wine as I sat in the dust of the road.

Heaven couldn't take it. They cast the lots of chance
Up came the name of madman me.

All those armies of the seventy two warring factions, forgive them,
forgive them all! They missed the pass of truth they stumbled into fable.

Peace has fallen him and me, praise God, as huris
dance in paradise and drink the wine of celebration.

Fire's not the flame that makes the candle smile. Fire
consumes the moth's delicate frame entire.

No one has drawn the veil from the face of reflection
like Hafiz, since they first combed the locks of speech.