My heart not prisoned is writhing with pain. Is he destined for a prize or a sheer disdain. I wished not to hurt the Satan’s heart too, so often my sins – God bless – were true. (Here true means correct, or in accordance with fact.)

O Amrine, thou hast turn’d the cup of wine, which ought to have moved from the right hand line: If this is the fashion of friendship lore, by the sacred wall bang the flask and bowl. (Umm o Amrine was the beloved of the Arab poet Amra ul Qais.)

Agar dostdaari ka yehi andaaz hai, tuo jam-o-meina ko Haram ki diwar sey dey maar.] O Amrine, thou hast turn’d the cup of wine, which ought to have moved from the right hand line: If this is the fashion of friendship lore, by the sacred wall bang the flask and bowl. (Umm o Amrine was the beloved of the Arab poet Amra ul Qais.)

Keep off my wine from shallow hearted meeks; hold off the ripe rum from the raws and weaks. Let a spark be away from reeds and hay, hold for the known and let the mob away.

Thou hast no quest in thy efforts and zeals, no wounds and scars and writhing reels. From His sideless* House I preferred a flight, it was void of wails of the mid of night. (*Sideless viz, the empyrean (Spencer) or perhaps higher than it; Emprian abode of angels in the Heavens.

Bid me shake the world with a cry and hue; get change on the globe with a complex new. From dust of mine make an Adam again, kill the bonds and slaves of loss and gain.

A gloom still lurking in broad day light; his right is ne’er right but the ‘might’ is right. I know not how far he stoops to his gloom, from the Adam’s blood get a glow and bloom.