|The Gnostic and the common throng new life have gained through my song:|
I have conferred relish fine on them for Love's fiery wine.
|Some Ajami near the Holy Shrine did sadly sing this song and pine,|
“Alas! the robes by pilgrims worn to threads and pieces now are torn.”
|The place of Husain, the Martyr great is fact, not bound to Space or Date,|
Though the Syrians and the Kufis may often change their wont and way.
|The gamblers who with you compete are deft of band and they can cheat:|
Your fumbling shaky hands, I fear, may bring about your ruin so drear.
|No wonder If the Muslims gain their ancient glory once again–|
Sanjar's splendour pomp and state, the piety and faqr of mystics great.
|The robe of art and lore I wear is through Your special bounty there:|
You know my coarse and homely frame, to honour great I have no claim.
Translated by: Syed Akbar Ali Shah