The one who is able to make my soul intoxicated without wine, where is he?
And the one who is able to draw me outside of my soul and heart, where is he?
And the one by whom I swear, and I only swear on his head,
And the one who breaks my oath and my repentance, where is he?
And the one - early in the morning - who makes the souls cry out loud,
And the one whose grief has carried us away from our place, where is he?
He is the soul of souls - if he has no place, why would that be strange?
The one who searches for a cup and who is in our body, where is he?
The eyelids are only pretence and he has therefore capricious desires
And the one who from behind his eyelids wounds my heart, where is he?
The one who has closed the heart with a veil of light and gives visions to it,
And the one who has closed the veil of the heart with such a veil, where is he?
Reason is nothing compared to drunkenness; ‘why and when’ are ruined,
And the one who is intoxicated and is free from ‘why and when’, where is he?