O Iqbal! In what a place you have constructed your nest! In this garden song is the prelude to nightingale’s disgrace!

Though you are planting the sparks of the Valley of Aiman; sprouting of seed of Sinai is not possible in this soil.

The bud cannot be a flower even with the force of breath; where everything is devoid of the exigency of self-development.

Outrageous that the nature of garden’s denizens is asleep; neither old age’s heart is awake nor the youth is courageous.

When the intelligent hearts fall asleep in breasts; for the singer sweet music is changed to poison.

Fly away from this garden if music’s restraint is impossible; as better than this assembly is the seclusion of some wilderness.

‘Manifestation of Lailah is much better in wilderness; city’s strait is unable to contain wilderness’ beauty.’