If self with knowledge strong becomes, Gabriel it can envious make: If fortified with passion great, like trump of Israfil can shake.

The scourge of present science and thought, to me, no doubt, is fully known, like Abraham, the Friend of God, in its flame I have been thrown.

The caravan in quest of goal by charm of lodge is led astray, though never can the ease of lodge be same as joy to be on way.

If seeing eye you do not own, among my listeners do not pause, for subtle points about the self, like sword, deep yawning wounds can cause.

Still to mind I can recall, in Europe what I learnt by heart: But can the veil of Reason match with joy that Presence can import.

From caravan you are adrift, and night has donned a mantle black: For you my song that burns as flame, like a torch, can light the track.

The tale of the Holy Shrine, if told, is simple, strange and red in hue: With Ismail the tale begins, ends with Husain, the martyr true.