Friend, has springtime come to the garden of love,
And is my sweetheart out enjoying love's bloom ?

The breeze will wake up, at break of dawn,
The sleeping flowers in all beds.
But I wonder if the bulbul would be awake !

Amazed at his tireless mission to stain her name
From pole to pole, the dew-drenched masval asks the breeze
'Could a soul like his have ever known rest ?'

I am unburdening my heart to the rose,
For I may never get a chance to speak
To my love when I meet him face to face.
How cruelly he forsook me after clipping off my wings !
Has ever a bird been left crippled and wounded thus ?

A new amorous passion fills his heart,
Or malicious whispers flood his mind.
Else, why without cause his stony stare ?

I said: 'Stay a moment; hear me with patience !'
He said: How long am I to listen to your endless plaints ?

The blackbird said to the crow: 'How senseless
This cawing ! When you see that he is drunk,
How can his heart be awake ?'

Mahjoor, both aul and bulbul are all ears to what you say.
I hope the discerning understand what that implies !