In the evening's serenity the Ravi melodious is: Do not ask me what the condition of my heart is.

This became message of prostration’s rise and fall to me; the whole world became precincts of the Haram to me.

I am standing at the bank of the running water; however, I do not know where I am standing.

The red wine has coloured the skirt of the evening. The aged sky is holding wine cup in its trembling hand.

The day's fast moving caravan is advancing to its end. The evening's twilight is the sun's flower so to say.

In the distance those solitary structures are standing; they are the minarets of the Mughal emperors' tombs.

This place is the tale of revolution’s tyranny. This place is some book of the bygone age.

This place is a silent orchestra so to say; not trees! But it is a serene assembly so to say.

A fast moving boat is sailing on its surface; whose sailor is fighting fiercely with the waves.

This boat is in fast speed like the sight; getting out of sight, it has gone far away.

The ship of Man’s life is sailing in the same way: it is present as well as hidden in eternity’s sea.

It never gets acquainted with defeat; it is concealed from sight but is not effaced!