Time has come for openness, Beloved's Sight will be common; the secret which silence had concealed, will be unveiled now.

O Cup bearer! Time has gone when wine was taken secretly; the whole world will be tavern, everyone will be drinking.

Those who once wandered insane will return to habitations; Lovers’ wandering will be the same but deserts will be new.

The Hijaz’ silence has proclaimed to the waiting ear at last; the covenants established with desert’s inhabitants will be re affirmed.

Which coming out of deserts had overturned the Roman Empire; I have heard from the Qudsis that the same lion will be re-awakened.

As the cup bearer mentioned me in the wine drinkers' assembly; the tavern's sage said, ‘He is insolent, he will be disgraced’.

O Western world's inhabitants; God's world is not a shop! What you are considering genuine will be regarded counterfeit.

Your civilization will commit suicide with its own dagger; the nest built on the frail branch will not be durable.

The caravan of the feeble ants will make fleet of rose petals; however strong the ocean waves' tumult be it will cross the ocean.

The poppy, roaming in the garden, shows its spots to every flower-bud; knowing that by this exhibition it will be counted among the Lovers.

O Sight! That was the One you showed us as a thousand; if this is your state what will be your credibility? (Allusion to the theories of Intellect about God, which present an enigma to Man. This attains nothing but confusion. However, Iman, Love of God and Faith present the Truth through the revelation of the Holy Qur’an. In this condition Intellect cannot be trusted as a guide on this path.)

As I told the turtledove one day the free of here are treading on dust! The buds started saying that I must be the knower of the garden's secrets!

There are thousands of God's Lovers, who are roaming in the wilderness; I shall adore the one who will be the lover of God's people.

This is the world's custom, O Heart! Even winking is a sin: What will our respect be if you will be restless here?

In the darkness of the night I shall take out my tired caravan. My sigh will be shedding sparks my breath will be throwing flames.

If there is nothing but show in the aim of your life; your destruction from the world will be in a breath like spark.

Do not ask about the condition of Iqbal, he is in the same state: Sitting somewhere by the wayside he must be waiting for oppression!