From the Note Book of MuIlah Zada Zaighum Laulaabi of Kashmir Thy fonts quick silver bewails with grace. The birds at dawn are restive in thy space. O Valley of Laulaab’s Grace.

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 Laulaab!

On harp thus depend the heart rending moons. If the wries are loose, no quill makes the tones. O Valley of Laulaab’s Groans.

The Mullah’s glance lacks the insight’s sense; the pure wine of Sufi lacks booze and trance. O Valley of Laulaab Hence.

Who wakes up the hearts from the morning wails, to see such Dervesh for long my sense fails. O Valley of Laulaab Tales.