Phir hua waqt ke ho baal-kusha mauj-e-sharab

Once more the season comes to spread its wings, the wave of wine, To give the flask a swimmer's heart and hands, the wave of wine.

Ask not why garden masters sink in darkest ecstasy; Beneath the vine's deep shade, it turns to air, the wave of wine.

Whoever drowns in wine finds fortune's highest grace; A kingly shadow passing overhead, the wave of wine.

In this monsoon, this season, what surprise If life's own current finds its vital breath in the wave of wine?

Four waves arise from joy's tempestuous sea: The wave of flowers, of twilight, of the breeze, the wave of wine.

However much the soul of all things green may thirst for grace, It finds its peace in life's eternal spring, the wave of wine.

Because it courses, turning into blood within the vine, On wings of vibrant color it takes flight, the wave of wine.

The path of thought is lit by flowering tides; So bright a vision in the mind's deep eye, the wave of wine.

Veiled in its rapture, it observes the mind's own art, Since it contains the very will to grow, the wave of wine.

A storm of feeling floods the world this year, From the first wave of green, on to the wave of wine.

This flowering season explains existence's great design; How blessed, the guide that leads the drop to sea, the wave of wine.

My senses reel, Asad, at this display of flowering signs; Once more the season comes to spread its wings, the wave of wine.