Come, for the harp of the West has fallen out of tune. There is no note in its chords but only a wail.

Time has thousand times adorned old idols; I have not swerved from the Harem because it has a firm foundation.

The banner of the Ottomans has risen high again, I know not what has befallen the Timurids.

How happy that your body has found rest here. For this land is free from the witchcraft of the West.

Kabul is thousand times better than Delhi which has been the bride of so many bridegrooms.

I preserve the bloody tears in my eyes because I am a poor faqir and this is God-given wealth.

Although the High Priest of the Harem keeps reciting LA ILAH; where is the glance sharper than a steel blade?