Through Love the song of Life begets its rhythmic flow: From Love the shapes of clay derive an endless glow.

Love makes its way to all the pores in human flesh: Like dewy wind of morn that makes the rose twig fresh.

If man denies his God, on kings he has to fawn: By trust in God, the kings to his door are drawn.

Free heart lends kingly state, to belly death is due: Decide which of the two is better in your view.

O Muslim, search your heart, of mullah don’t ask it: ‘The sacred House of God, the righteous why have quit?’