|Events as yet folded in the scroll of Time|
Reflect in the mirror of my perception.
|Neither the planets, nor the spinning skies— |
Only my bold song—can tell you your destiny.
|Either my sighs are devoid of fire,|
Or else your straw and thorns as yet retain some sap;
|Yet perchance my morning song|
May quicken the fire that your dust contains—
|The dust that will break the spell of the passing time one day,|
Though it is entangled in the skein of Fate as yet.
Translated by: K. A. Shafique