My story is not indebted to the patience of being heard. My silence is my talk, my speechlessness is my speech.

Why does this custom of silencing exist in your assembly? My tongue is tantalized to talk in this assembly.

Some leaves were picked up by the tulip, some by the narcissus, some by the rose. My story is scattered around everywhere in the garden.

The turtle-doves, parrots, and nightingales pilfered away; the garden's denizens jointly robbed away my plaintive way.

O Candle! Drip like tears from the eye of the moth; head to foot pathos I am, full of longing is my story.

O God! What is the pleasure of living so in this world? Neither the eternal life, nor the sudden death is mine.

This is not only my wailing, but is that of the entire garden; I am a rose, to me every rose' autumn is my autumn.

‘In this grief-stricken land, in life-long spell of the caravan's bell I am. From the palpitating heart's bounties the silent clamor I have.’

In the world's garden unaware of pleasant company I am. Whom happiness still mourns, that hapless person I am.

Speech itself sheds tears at my ill luck; silent word, longing for an eager ear I am.

I am a mere handful of scattered dust but I do not know whether Alexander or a mirror or just dust and scum I am.

Despite all this my existence is the Divine Purpose; embodiment of light is whose reality, that darkness I am.

I am a treasure, concealed in the wilderness dust; no one knows where I am, or whose wealth I am?

My insight is not obligated to the stroll of existence that small world I am whose sovereign myself I am.

Neither wine, nor cup-bearer, nor ecstasy, nor goblet I am; but the truth of everything in the existence' tavern I am.

My heart’s mirror shows me both worlds’ secrets; I relate exactly what I witness before my eyes.

I am bestowed with such speech among the elegant speakers that the birds of the Arsh’s roof are concordant with me.

This also is an effect of my tumultuous love that my heart’s mirrors are Destiny’s confidante.

Your spectacle makes me shed tears, O India! Your tales are admonitory among all the tales.

Conferring the wailing on me is like conferring everything; since eternity Destiny’s pen has put me where all your mourners are.

O gardener do not leave even the rose-petals’ trace in this garden! By your misfortune war preparations are afoot among the gardeners.

The sky has kept thunderbolts concealed up its sleeve; garden’s nightingales should not slumber in their nests.

Listen to my call, O imprudent one! This is something which the birds in gardens are reciting like the daily prayers.

Think of the homeland, O ignorant one! Hard times are coming; conspiracies for your destruction are afoot in the heavens.

Pay attention to what is happening and what is going to happen; what good there is in repeating the tales of the old glories?

How long will you remain silent? Create taste for complaint! You should be on the earth, so your cries be in the heavens!

You will be annihilated if you do not understand O people of India! Even your tales will disappear from the world’s chronicles. (Isn’t it more relevant for Muslims of today’s Pakistan than it was for Indian Muslims about a century ago?)

This is the law of Nature, this is the order of Nature; those who tread dynamism’s path, are the darlings of Nature.

I will surely exhibit all my hidden wounds today; I will surely change assembly to a garden with blood-mixed tears.

I have to light every heart’s candle with hidden pathos; I will surely create bright illumination in your darkness.

So that love-cognizant hearts be created like rose-buds; I will surely scatter around my handful of dust in the garden.

If stringing these scattered pearls in a single rosary is difficult, I will surely make this difficult task easy.

O Companion! Leave me alone in the soul-searching effort as I will surely exhibit this mark of the ardent Love.

I will show the world what my eyes have seen; I will surely make you also bewildered like a mirror.

The discerning eye sees every thing covered in veils; it does see the exigencies of the nature of times.

You have not acquainted your heart with pleasure of dignity. You have passed your entire life in humility like foot-prints.

You always remained entangled inside the assembly, but have not acquainted yourself with the world outside the assembly.

You have continued loving the charm of material beauties, but you have never seen your own elegance in this mirror.

Give up prejudice O imprudent one! In the world's glass housel they are your own pictures which you have taken as evil ones.

Become embodiment of the wail of tyranny of life's pathos! You have concealed sound in your pocket like the rue seed. (Rue: This is a perennial evergreen European shrub, (Ruta graveolens, Family Rutaceae). Its seeds when roasted crack and jump. The metaphor is used for a person who is restless in pursuing a just cause.)

Clarity of heart has nothing to do with external decorations O imprudent one! You have applied myrtle to mirror's palm.

Not only the earth even the sky is bewailing your imprudence. It is outrageous that you have twisted the Qur'an's lines!

To what purpose is your claim to monotheism! You have made the idol of self conceit your deity.

What did you see even if you saw Yusuf in the well? O imprudent one! You have made the Absolute confined. (This is an allusion to the Holy Qur'an 12:19. The traveler in the caravan who saw Yusuf A.S. saw him as a man, perhaps as a source of profit by sale on account of being extraordinarily handsome. However, he failed to recognize his greatness as a prophet of God, which is the highest stage to which a human being can rise. By extending the analogy ‘Allamah Iqbal means that we see only the ritual part in religion and do not comprehend religion's higher values, and by doing so we have reduced the absolute Truth of the Holy Qur’an to mere rituals.)

You are greedy of flowery style even at the pulpit. Your advice also is a form of story telling.

Show that universally illuminating Beauty to your weeping eye, which renders the moth highly agitated, which makes the dew weep like eye.

Mere seeing is not its purpose O greedy one! Some One has made the human eye with some purpose.

Even if he viewed the whole world, what did he see? Jam could not see his own reality in the wine cup. (Jam: This is the abbreviation for the name of a famous Persian monarch, Jamshid who is believed to have possessed a wine cup in which he could see the whole world.)

Sectarianism is the tree, prejudice is its fruit. This fruit caused expulsion of A’dam (A.S.) from Paradise. (This is an allusion to the Holy Qur'an 2:35-39. Iblis misguided A’dam A.S. to eat the forbidden fruit on account of his jealousy and prejudice against him. This prejudice of Iblis brought about the descent of A’dam A.S. from Paradise to earth, which is sometimes described as a punishment, based on the biblical story.)

Not even a single rose-petal could rise by sun's attraction. It is the longing for elegance which raises the dew.

Those wounded by Love do not wander in search of cure. These wounded ones themselves create their own cure.

The heart gets complete illumination by the spark of Love. The Toor's flower bed is raised from the Love's small seed.

Every malady's cure is to remain wounded with Longing's sword. Wound's remedy is to remain free from obligation to stitching.

With the Bekhudi's wine up to the celestial world is my flight. From disappearance of colour I have learnt to remain fragrance.

To what purpose should we make our nest in the rose-branch? Ah! How can we live with constant disgrace in the garden?

If you understand, independence is veiled in Love. Slavery is to remain imprisoned in the net of schism.

Contentment is what keeps the cup submerged in water. You should also remain like the bubble in the stream.

It is best for you not to remain indifferent to yours own O apathetic person! If you want to remain alive in the world.

Soul-invigorating wine is the Love of the human race; it has taught me to remain ecstatic without the wine cup and the pitcher.

Sick nations have been cured only through Love. Nations have warded off their adversity through Love.

The expanse of Love is at once foreign land and homeland; this wilderness is the cage, the nest, as well as the garden.

Love is the only stage which is the stage as well as the wilderness; it is the bell, the caravan, the leader as well as the robber.

Everybody calls it an illness, but it is such an illness in which the cure for all ills and misfortunes is concealed.

The heart's pathos in a way is to become embodiment of Light; if this moth burns it is also the assembly's candle.

The Beauty is just one but appears in everything; it is Shirin, the sky, as well as the mountain digger (Farhad is called here the mountain digger).

Distinction of sects and governments has destroyed nations. Is there any concern for the homeland in my compatriot's hearts?

Prolonging the tale of my woes calls for silence, otherwise the tongue in my mouth as well as the ability to speak is.

‘Take not this meaningful tale as related by me is the story was endless, but related with silence is.’