O Lord! I have become weary of human assemblages! When the heart is sad no pleasure in assemblages can be.

I seek escape from tumult, my heart desires; the silence which speech may ardently love!

I vehemently desire silence, I strongly long that a small hut in the mountain's side may there be.

Freed from worry I may live in retirement; freed from the cares of the world I may be.

Birds' chirping may give the pleasure of the lyre; in the spring's noise may the orchestra's melody be.

The flower bud bursting may give God's message to me; showing the whole world to me this small wine-cup may be. (The flower bud bursting: This metaphor refers to the wine-cup of Jamshaid, a Persian king, who could see the whole world in it. This is one of the innumerable messages in `Allamah Iqbal's works through which he requires his readers to comprehend and enjoy the creative artistry of God.)

My arm may be my pillow, and the green grass my bed be; putting the congregation to shame my solitude's quality be.

The nightingale be so familiar with my face that her little heart harboring no fear from me may be.

Avenues of green trees standing on both sides be; the spring's clear water providing a beautiful picture be.

The view of the mountain range may be so beautiful; to see it the waves of water again and again rising be.

The verdure may be asleep in the lap of the earth; water running through the bushes may glistening be.

Again and again the flowered boughs touching the water be; as if some beauty looking at itself in mirror be.

When the sun apply myrtle to the evening's bride; the tunic of every flower may pinkish golden be.

When night's travelers falter behind with fatigue; their only hope my broken earthenware lamp may be.

May the lightning lead them to my hut; when clouds hovering over the whole sky be.

The early dawn's cuckoo, that morning's mu’adhin; may my confidante he be, and may his confidante I be. (Mu’adhin: The person calling Muslims to congregational prayers. This is a beautiful metaphor calling the cuckoo as the herald of the morning prayer time.)

May I not be obligated to the temple or to the mosque; may the hut’s hole alone herald of morning’s arrival be.

When the dew may come to perform the flowers’ ablution’ may wailing my supplication, weeping my ablution be.

In this silence may my heart’s wailing rise so high that for stars’ caravan the clarion’s call my wailing be.

May every compassionate heart weeping with me be; perhaps it may awaken those who may unconscious be