Neither that pride nor enthusiasm remains, nor that struggle between intoxication and ascetic piety; our eyes no longer turn toward the Qibla, nor are there impressions of the forehead left at the beloved's threshold.

This couplet paints a deeply touching portrait of absolute emotional exhaustion and detachment. The poet looks back at a time when life was vibrant with inner struggle—torn between the rebellious freedom of wine and the discipline of piety—but now even that lively tension has faded into apathy. His gaze no longer seeks the sacred direction of the Qibla, nor does his forehead bow at the threshold of the beloved. It is the poignant quietude of a heart that has simply grown too weary to either pray or plead in love.