|Whether or not it moves you, at least listen to my complaint—|
It is not redress this free spirit seeks.
|This handful of dust, this fiercely blowing wind, and these vast, limitless heavens—|
Is the delight You take in creation a blessing or some wanton joke?
|The tent of the rose could not withstand the wind blowing through the garden:|
Is this the spring season, and this the auspicious wind?
|I am at fault, and in a foreign land,|
But the angels never could make habitable that wasteland of yours.
|That stark wilderness, that insubstantial world of Yours|
Gratefully remembers my love of hardship.
|An adventurous spirit is ill at ease|
In a garden where no hunter lies in ambush.
|The station of love is beyond the reach of Your angels,|
Only those of dauntless courage are up to it.
Translated by: Mustansir Mir