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Hurry, wine-bearer, bring the wine!
Withered flowers need spring rain.
My heart is dead, it needs a resurrection.
The days are drab, no nightingales sing
within the garden. Only morning breezes
find the gate and serenade the roses.
Healer, hear my heart’s desire! Give me
the remedies that will cure my sorrow.
I don’t care if they’re bitter, I need relief.
Dawn, don’t chase the night away. I must
shoot my arrow-sighs into the darkness,
aim my eager prayers high up to Heaven.
I’ve craved an end to scorching grief, this pain.
My cries to Heaven? A waste of breath.
Now, not even Death can bring my spirit peace.
On Judgment Day, remorse, repentance.
I’ll beg for mercy for the errors I have made,
pray my tears will wash away, erase my sins.
Makhfi, do not fear; don’t worry about your fate.
All ranks dissolve on Judgment Day: no one’s
high, low, better, worse. Finally, we’re human.
