My life is similar to that of the silent violin; the lap of which is full of all kinds of melodies.

The harp of the universe is sacrificed on whose silence; every string of which is the grave of hundreds of melodies.

The silence of which is the custodian of music's perfection, and the silence of which is not obligated to any uproar.

Ah! The hope of my Love was never fulfilled: this instrument was never hit by the plectrum.

But sometimes the zephyr of the garden of Toor flows and sometimes the breeze of Houri’s breath from the sky.

Which gently touches the string of my life; and frees the imprisoned soul of my life.

The gentle sound of the music of despair rises; the clarion's call for the caravan of tears rises.

Just as dew's elegance depends upon the taste for racing; the elegance of my nature depends upon grief's melodies!