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Your springs and lakes with water pulsating and quivering like quicksilver,
the morning birds fluttering about the sky, agitated and in turmoil,
O Valley of Laulab! |
When the pulpit and the niche cease to re-create Resurrections,
faith then is dead or a mere dream, for thee, me and for all.
O Valley of Laulab! |
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The Mullah’s sight has lost the light of penetrative discernment;
the mystic’s wine, pure and sparkling, no longer produces frenzy,
O Valley of Laulab! |
A dervish whose morning lamentation
may awaken the hearts of the people is no longer around,
O Valley of Laulab! |
Translated by: K. Nizam-ud-Din |
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