Over the tussle of heart and head Rumi has won and Rizi fled.

Still bowl of Jamshid is alive, without guile kingship cannot thrive.

Both you and I aren’t Muslims true, though we say the prayers due.

I know the end of wrangle well where mullahs at each other yell.

Turkish and Arabic both are sweet, for talk of Love all tongues are meet.

The breed of Azar idols make, but Friends of God these idols break.

You are alive and live for aye the rest is all a play with clay.