POET: Last night I said to the candle of my desolate house: ‘Your hair gets combed by the wings of the moth.

In the world I am like the lamp of the wilderness’ tulip; I am neither in an assembly’s lot, nor in a house’ fortune.

Since a long time I am also burning my breath like you; though I am circling the flame no moth has hit its wing.

Many an effulgence is crammed in my life of unfulfilled desires; not a single loving heart rises in this assembly.

From where have you acquired this world-illuminating fire? You have infused the love of Kalim (A.S.) in the poor insect’!

CANDLE: The blow of breath which gives me the message of death; by the same blow of breath your lip is melodious.

I am alight because burning is built into my nature; you are alight so that the moths may have the love of yours.

I am weeping because a flood gushes forth from my heart; you shed dew so that garden’s assembly may sing praises yours.

My morning is adorned with the roses from my night’s toil; your tomorrow is unaware of the today of yours.

Though you are lightened but are devoid of the inner heat; like the lamp of the wilderness’ tulip is the flame of yours.

Just think if cup-bearer’s title is appropriate for you; assembly is thirsty and the wine-measure is empty of yours.

Your ways are different; the law of the Millat is different. Your mirror has been disgraced by the ugly appearance of yours.

With the Ka‘bah by your side you are temple’s lover; how rebellious is the irresponsible love of yours.

That Qais be produced in your assembly is not possible; your wilderness is straitened, without Lailah is the litter of yours.

O brilliant pearl! O the one reared in the wave’s lap; unacquainted with the taste of storms is the ocean of yours.

Why are you singing now? Your garden is in disorder! Your singing is out of place; your music is out of season.

Those who were anxious for the Spectacle have departed; your coming now with general Sighting’s promise matters little.

Those old ardent lovers of wine are gone from the assembly. O cup-bearer! Your coming now in assembly with strong wine in the cup matters little.

Ah! When the rose garden’s organization has already got disorganized; if the flower got the message of spring breeze matters little.

The lover’s condition was worth seeing at the night’s end; the Beloved’s arrival early in the morning matters little.

Extinguished is the flame which was every moth’s objective; if some pursuer of perfect love came now it matters little.

The flowers do not care, you may or may not sing; the caravan is callous, the bell may or may not ring.

If devoid of love’s warmth you remained even as assembly’s candle; your moths also unacquainted with this taste remained.

If you could string them together on the thread of Love; then why did the beads of your rosary scattered remain?

Gone is the courageous Love, gone is the sublime thinking; in your assembly neither the insane nor the sages remain. (Insane and Sage: The original word is the Urdu equivalent of insane. The behaviour of a person in ardent love, including such Love of God, is strange and is so selfish that it appears insane to ordinary people. Hence, lovers are also called ‘insane’.)

Gone is that burning of Love, gone is that heart’s pathos; what good it is if the moths round the candle did remain?

Very well, the cup-bearer you may be, whom will you serve wine: now neither those wine-drinkers nor those taverns did remain.

Today a broken decanter is crying for the cup-bearer; whose goblets in circulation till yesterday did remain.

Today are silent those Love-cherishing expanses; where Lailah and her lovers dancing did remain.

How disappointing! The caravan’s wealth is gone. The feeling of loss from caravan’s heart is gone.

With whose activities the wilderness was once flourishing; their cities are wiped out, habitations desolate have become.

The prayers which established the grandeur of Tawhid; those prayers offerings to Brahman in India have become.

In this world ever-lasting comfort on laws’ observance depends; to the ocean wave freedoms prelude to lamentation have become.

The Manifestation Itself was longing for whose eyes; those eyes despaired of Aiman’s light have become. (Aiman: Valley of Mount Toor.)

Thousands of nightingales were flying about in the rose-garden; what happened to them that they confined to the nests have become?

In the celestial expanse whose lightning power was panoramic; those lightning’s satiated with the barn’s sides have become.

Why should the blood letting eye ingratiated to the rose garden be? With continuous tears the eyes fully satiated with embers have become.

However, the grief’s night gives the message of Eid’s morning; in the darkness of the night the ray of hope has appeared.

Glad tidings, O cup-bearer of the tavern of Hijaz; after ages your rinds have regained consciousness.

Wealth of self-respect was the price for other’s wine; now your shop is again full of calls for the carousal.

About to break is the magic of India’s white faced masters; again the Sulaima’s eye is the harbinger of clamor’s message. (India’s white-faced masters: Reference to the British who had full and unfettered mastery over India and were very hostile to Muslims and Islamic values.)

There is clamor again for cup-bearer to bring the home-made wine; as the heart’s uproars have been silenced by the West’s wine.

Sing because this is not the time for silence; the dawn’s sky is shouldering the sun like decanter.

Burn in sympathy with others and also make others burn. Listen if you can, a bright Hadith has been conveyed to you.

Ancestors have said that poetry is a part of prophet-hood. Yes, convey to the Millat the glad tidings of the Messenger Angel!

Awaken the eye with the promise of the Beloved’s Sight. Bring the heart to life with the warmth of speech’s skill.

Your love for indulgence became a robber of courage. You were an ocean in wilderness, in garden a brook you became.

When you stood firm in your purity, you had the nation also; caravan of fragrance after leaving the rose scattered became.

The life of the drop has lessons of the secrets of life; sometimes pearl, sometimes dew, sometimes tear it became.

Obtain it from somewhere it is a great wealth; what good is life if the heart unaware of bosom became.

Your honor depended upon the organization of the Millat; when this organization departed, disgraced world wide you became.

The individual is firm by nation’s coherence, otherwise nothing; the wave is only in the ocean, and outside it is nothing.

Keep the love concealed in your heart’s veil still; that is do not disgrace your wine like the decanter.

Pitch your tent in the Valley of Sinai like Kalim. Make the Truth’s flame destroyer of home’s comfort.

The candle should also know the result of atrocities; make the moth’s ashes restorer of the morning.

If you are self-respecting be not obliged to the cup-bearer; in the ocean’s midst turn the goblet up side down like the bubble (Simile for the up-side down, i.e. empty wine-cup).

No joy remains in the old mountains and wilderness; your love is new, you should create new wilderness.

If the destiny has destroyed you completely; from downfall make a new rod like the seed.

Yes! Build your nest again on the same old branch; make the rose garden’s residents martyrs of the song of intoxication.

In this garden be the nightingale’s follower or rose’ pupil; either be all complaint or do not produce any music.

Why are you silent in the garden like dew’s retreat! Open your lips; you are the music of the world’s harp!

Become somewhat acquainted with your own reality O farmer! The grain, the cultivation, the rain, as well as the produce you are.

Ah! Whose search keeps you aimlessly wandering: The path, the traveler, the guide, as well as the destination you are.

Why is your heart trembling with the fear of the storm? The sailor, the ocean, the boat, as well as the sea-shore you are.

Come and look some time in the lane of the torn collars Qais, Lailah, the wilderness as well as the litter on the camel you are.

Woe foolishness! You are in need of the cup-bearer: The wine, the decanter, the cup-bearer, as well as the assembly you are.

Becoming a flame burn down the rubbish of Godlessness; why are you afraid of the falsehood? The destroyer of falsehood also you are.

O imprudent one! You are the essence of time’s mirror: The ultimate message of God in the world you are!

O imprudent one! Be aware of your own reality as though you are only a drop your reality is also like the boundless ocean.

Why are you imprisoned in the spell of poor resources? Just look, concealed in you is also the storm’s power!

Your breast is custodian of the love’s message of the one who is Apparent as well as Hidden in the universe’ system. (The Apparent One, The Concealed One: These are the attributes of Allah, This verse means that as a Muslim you are the repository of the treasures of the last message of God.)

What conquers the whole world without sword and gun; if you understand the material is also in your mettle.

O indolent One! Do you remember that covenant also on which Mount Faran till now is a silent witness? (Mount Faran: It is the peak of the mountain on which the cave of Hira is located and where the Holy Prophet (S.A.W.) used to retire for prayer and meditation and where he got his first Message through Jibril)

O ignorant one! Only you became contented with some flower buds; otherwise in the rose-garden there is also cure for the receiver’s small capacity!

The heart’s state is produced in the speech’s curtain; in decanter’s veil the wine is apparent as well as veiled.

My fiery music has burnt me down and this is the very means of my life!

Look into my breast for the secret of this fiery music. Look into heart’s mirror for destiny’s manifestation!

The sky will shine mirror-like with the morning’s light and the night’s darkness will be speeding away!

The spring breeze will be so melody inspiring that flower-bed’s silent fragrance will become melodious!

The garden’s afflicted ones will unite with other afflicted ones. The zephyr will become companion of the rose’ assembly!

My gentle spray of dew will produce warmth and music; every flower-bud of this garden will become appreciative of pathos!

You will see the result of the glory of the river’s flow; the restless wave itself will become its ankle’s chain!

The hearts will again recall the message of prostrations. The foreheads will become acquainted with the Haram’s dust.

The hunter’s wailing will give material for the birds’ singing. Coloured with flower-picker’s blood the flower-bud will became.

Whatever the eye is seeing cannot be described by the lips; I am lost in amazement as to what the world will become!

The night will eventually disappear by sun’s appearance! This garden will be filled with the Light of Tawhid!