The world changes utterly: the stars turn faster, O Saqi.
In every heart I hear the cry of surrender, O Saqi.

God’s journeymen have lost their arts, their certainty.
Whose artifice deceives them, who has this power, O Saqi.

Weak-willed, weak-hearted, weakly they move about.
Revive him: he needs Your life-giving elixir, O Saqi.

The Muslim lacks the spark that once ignited hearts.
Why is the birth of spirit so hard to deliver, O Saqi.

There rises none like Rumi from the gardens of ‘Ajam.
The air is the same: unchanged the sky and water, O Saqi.

Ardent, with hope, Iqbal has tended his barren fields.
A little sweat will renew its hidden powers, O Saqi.

This dervish is privy to mysteries of royalty.
His songs teach slaves to rise to grandeur, O Saqi.