O God! Teach a little Love to my happy Intellect. It loves fine stitching but my shirt has no collar.

As I got Love's ardor the angels said on azal's morning: ‘You are like the grave's candle, you have no assembly’.

No friend is available here; this land is friendless, O Heart! You want something from me which does not exist under the sky.

The Arab architect made it distinct from the whole world; the foundation of our nation's fort is not geographical unity.

Why this coming and going, future's concern is a conceit; we are manifest in everything, we do not have any homeland.

Somebody should take my message to the Makhzan's editor: Activist nations do not have taste for poetic literature!