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The drinker leaves his home, to find the house of wine,
A simple soul, unsure of paths, a choice he must define.
Each offers roads, a different way,
But I declare, to find the way,
One path alone, you must pursue, and you will find the house of wine.
And you will find the house of wine.

Listen to the gurgling, the wine pours into the glass,
Listen to the gurgling, gurgling, from the jug, the wine does pass.
Hear the tinkling, the water flows,
From the youthful saqi, her sweet offering shows.
Near we are, no longer far, just four steps remain,
The drinkers cheer, the air is sweet, the house of wine does reign.

The crimson stream of wine, like a flame, do not call it fire,
Do not call it fire.
Foaming wine, do not mistake it for the heart's desire.
The pain is the wine's essence,
The pain is the wine's essence, past memories, the saqi's grace,
In suffering, find joy, and enter my house of wine.

The scriptures they have burned to ash, where the inner fire has grown,
The temples, mosques, and churches, by the madman overthrown.
The Pandit, Momin, and the Priest,
From all their chains, he has been released,
My house of wine, welcomes now, the one who stands alone.

On whose lips the wine has never kissed,
Whose hand has never touched the glass, the sweetest bliss,
The saqi's hand, he would not take,
The saqi's hand, no nearness make,
He wasted life, of the house of wine, so sweet and full of grace.

Become the priest, the lover, the saqi, the sacred Ganges flow,
Keep turning, with ceaseless motion, the wine glasses aglow.
Take more, and drink,
Take more and drink, repeat this mantra now,
I will become Shiva, this will be, my house of wine, you know.

Once a year, the world ignites, with the Holi's fiery blaze,
Once a year, the game is played, the lamps in bright arrays.
But you, O world, one day must see,
But you, O world, come and see,
Holi by day, Diwali by night, the house of wine always displays.

On the lips, whatever the taste, on the tongue, the wine's embrace,
The vessel held, in the hands, a glass, in its right place.
Every form, the saqi's form,
Every form, the saqi's form, it transforms,
Before the eyes, whatever is, in the eyes, the house of wine.

Your lovely face, my love, is the golden glass for me,
Overflowing, overflowing,
Overflowing with the ruby wine, intoxicating, wild, and free.
I become the saqi, I become the drinker, I am all in one,
I am the drinker,
Where you and I together sit, there is the house of wine, has begun.

For two days, she gave me wine, then the saqi, full of glee,
Filled the glass, and pushed it forth, before me, for all to see.
Now from a distance, that sweet grace is gone,
The ritual, that is all that is to be,
The duty is done in the house of wine, no more than that for me.

In this short life, how much love to drink, to taste the wine,
As soon as one arrives in the world, one is called the one to decline.
With welcome, farewell's preparation,
With welcome, farewell's preparation, see it to be,
Closing with the opening, my life's house of wine.
My life's house of wine.

Have you quenched, O saqi, the fire that burns within,
And still you crave, and still you crave, goes on, the drinking sin.
How many desires, abandoned here,
How many hopes, how many tears,
Become the grave, for the house of wine, within.

Yama will come, as the saqi, with dark wine in his hand,
Drink, and return to no more, this drunken, final stand.
This last intoxication, the last saqi, the final glass to see,
O traveler, drink it with love,
O traveler, drink it with love, you will never find the house of wine, never be.

Falling, falling daily, the wine of the lover's soul,
Breaking, breaking daily, my fragile glass, taking its toll.
The lovely one, she is displeased with me, the saqi of my youth,
Drying, drying daily, my life's house of wine, forsooth.
My life's house of wine, forsooth.

When the life's wine, flows from the vessel of the form,
When the vessel of poison is held, by the saqi, on the final storm.
The touch of the glass, forgotten then,
The taste of the wine, forgotten then,
In your ears, whisper always,
The wine's sweet drop, the house of wine.

On my lips, the final thing, not the basil leaf, the glass,
On my tongue, the final thing, not the Ganges' waters that pass.
Behind my corpse, those who follow, remember this one decree,
Ram is truth, do not say,
Ram is truth, do not say,
Say, the house of wine, truly be.
Say, the house of wine, truly be.

Over my corpse, let her weep, whose tears are the wine's delight,
Let him sigh, who is made fragrant, by the wine's intoxicating might.
Give me a shoulder, whose steps unsteady in the drink of glee,
And let me burn where, in the past, the house of wine, used to be.

And on the pyre, pour not ghee, but the glass instead,
In the grape vine's embrace, not water, but the wine instead.
If you would perform, my dear, my final rites, do this:
Invite the drinkers, open wide,
Invite the drinkers, open wide,
The house of wine, your kiss.

If they ask my name, say only, "The drinker, it is he,"
The work, to pour, and pour again, the wine for all to see.
If asked my caste, my dear, my dear,
Say, "Of the mad ones, is his peer."
Declare the faith of glasses, the house of wine, eternally.

In the time of ancestors, give not water, but the glass, you see,
Sit somewhere, go to the Ganges, there the wine will comfort me.
Let the soil of any place, be soaked, I will find release,
Make offerings to me,
Reading, reciting, the house of wine, with such ease.
Reading, reciting, the house of wine, with such ease.