I long to put on saffron robes
And find out where my love has gone,
Roam in every town and village
And over hill and dale.

I'd glide into his bower
With love in every limb,
And gather in my eyes a bouquet
Of flowers that do not fade.

If my love would only look at me,
Leaving his high disdain.
I'd be. the Shravan jessamine,
Abloom with youth and joy.

I hear the God of Love will come to the Dal
And spend the night at Telbal
O could I become a patient lotus
In the lake to watch him pass !

Variegated flowers bloom,
Some with ravishing perfumes;
But among them all I long to find
The one that does not fade.

He came to see me unexpected;
How could I show him the anguish
Of my love ? I'd have revived
If he had stayed a moment.

I long for him to come and hear
The song of my love-sick soul;
I'd tune the strings of love
In any heart's harp with joy.

If his flint heart will melt
Only with my tears,
I shall weep a rain of blood
From my eyes every day.

I wonder how they will react
To Mahjoor's songs of love.
I'd love to hear and shall wait,
And would listen with all my ears !