Love's more delicate than a flower,
And more precious than my life;
My heart is its permanent home,
And I its vigilant guard!

It's love that drew me on
To the flower bush in Shalamar
From my nest in the thorn shrubs
Growing on desolate land.

Tell me how autumn brings only blight,
Leaving spring to repair the damage,
For while yemberzal blooms in spring,
Autumn brings saffron flowers!

Be like Satyabhama, who knew that God
Can never be weighed with wealth.
Rejecting all her diamonds,
She weighed Krishna with her love.

I begged in the evening for a view
Of his beauteous form. His answer came
As a staggering medley greeting my eyes,
When dawn broke over the mountain peaks.

You have no faith in what I say,
But - don't mind my being frank! -
Having the heart of a policeman,
You do not know compassion.

No one forgives a starving man
Who steals to feed himself,
But how about the rich hiring hands,
To have thousands done to death?

My words one day will be parables,,
My call acquire a force;
Only let Hairat's spirit wake up,
And may Zinda Kaul live long!

Mahjoor, love's fire must be borne
In silence, as by a cooking stove;
For you can comfort others only
When you have borne this fire.