The world had lost its sight and the glass of the heart forsook, but an eye now sees the light that into the heart can look.

Dark is the night, twists the road, all faithless the wayfarers; and the caravan’s guide what load of problems oppressive bears!

Raqib-e-khaam souda must-o-ashiq must-o-qasid must; Drunk are the feckless spy, the lover, the messenger; so the words of the sweethearts lie in how many loads to wear.

Its faith of believer true, its doubt of the infidel – O Muslims, what shall I do with the heart that in me doth dwell?

Sometimes the helmsman’s skill the storm doth display, and more! Lo, the waves, impetuous will hath cast our craft on the shore.

Who fashioned these seeing eyes in the wave, far in ocean lost, that the pearl in the sea’s heart lies, and the potsherd breaks on the coast?

No part of my soul’s unrest hath stirred in my Native land; with my magic I tried my best, it was lost on the desert sand.

If a New World thou hast in thy bosom, declare thy faith! Wounded in heart and breast, Europe is nigh to death.