Because of you I chose exile,
I’ve been estranged from my tribe for some time.
I watered my flower with my tears,
Injustice! Don’t take me away from my flower.
There’s nothing wrong if a king wants a pauper,
If a pauper desires a king, he can’t help it.
My desire is too high; my luck is too low,
There is no cure for this pain but death.
What’s with the melancholic ascetic?
He argues with me about faith and religion.
The religion of the lover is the beloved.
I’m taking no path but my own.
