I don't belong to Fars or Hind, to Iraq or Hejaz don't trace my breed. The Self to me this much has taught spurn both the worlds and pay no heed.

You are a heathen in my view, the same to you may seem my creed: To count the breath, your Faith and goal, while melting breath my job and deed.

Your change, no doubt, is good and well, and so your change of Moslem Creed. This Faith is meant for men, like hawks, it suits not pheasants' quivering breed.

Such passionate Love of God and craze, in wilds and wastes has not caught my sight; whose magic force and rapture great, the faults of reason may set right.

A poet must ne'er keep aloof from noisy fretful stream of life; the bard, who shuns the facts and truths, can't make the nation face its strife.