سحر می‌گفت بلبل

At dawn the nightingale was saying to the gardener: In this garden nothing grows but the sapling of grief

The desert thorn survives to reach old age But the rose dies as soon as it blooms in youth

I heard the moth say in the realm of non-existence: Give me one breath of life's burning fever

At dawn, scatter my ashes to the wind But give me one night of burning and of music

Sahar megoft o bulbul baghban raa Dar ein bagh joz nehal gham naroyad

Ba piri merasad khar beyaban Wali gul chon jawan gardad bemirad

Shanidam dar aadam parwana megoft Dame az zendagi taab o tabam bar

Perayshan kon sahar khakestaram raa Wale soz o saaz yak shabam deh