|Mine ill luck the same and same, O Lord, the coldness on Your part:|
No useful aim has been served, by skill in poetic art.
|Where am I and where are You, is the world a fact or naught?|
Does this world to me belong, or is a wonder by You wrought?
|The precious moments of my life, one by one have been snatched:|
But still the conflict racks my brain, if heart and head are ever matched.
|A hawk forgetful of its breed, upbrought and fed in midst of kites,|
Knows not the wont and ways of hawks, and cannot soar to mighty heights.
|For song no tongue is set apart, no claim to tongues is laid by me:|
What matters is a dainty song, no matter what its language be.
|Faqr and Kingship are akin, though at odds may these appear:|
One wins the heart with single glance, the other rules with sword and spear.
|Some have left the caravan train, and some on Ka‘bah turn their back;|
For leaders of the Faithful Band, winsome mode and manners lack.
Translated by: Syed Akbar Ali Shah