If I was not worthy of the company of pious Sufis, You should have at least made me fit for the gathering of revellers and drinkers.

In this couplet, the poet playfully and poignantly complains to the Divine about feeling spiritually stranded in no-man's-land. He argues that if he wasn't granted the purity and discipline to keep company with holy Sufis, he should have at least been blessed with the carefree abandon of worldly drunkards and rebels. It touches on that deeply relatable human sorrow of falling between two extremes—belonging neither to the sacred realm of ascetics nor to the joyfully defiant circle of the free-spirited.