My rose gardens fill with ecstasy
Bulbuls and poshinools;
Forlorn hearts find solace
In my meadows and waterfalls.

Sick men flock here from various lands,
And go back home in health;
But my own men, racked with hunger and disease,
Lie dying on my roads.

I was not what you see me now!
My many monuments of stone
Bear eloquent witness to the greatness
Of my glorious ancient heritage.

If you just scrape my soil,
Gaze steadily down with care,
Mixed with the dust, you will find
Many a garden that was once in bloom!

If only there were a just dispensation
To save me in my own home,
My jobless many wouldn't have to knock about
On dreary winter nights.

I wear myself out round the year,
But can never banish hunger,
With bankers. grocers, jewellers
Swallowing up whatever I earn.

I pray with all my heart
That the rich may always prosper;
In return, their fervent prayer
Is that I may never rise!

My naked poor labour hard,
And grow food for every one;
Never satisfied, the rich demand
Their slaving for them night and day.

But remember! When these poor naked souls
Do stand up at last one day,
They will move from their present indigence
To inheritance of wealth.

They'll offer prayer and sacrifice
To reserve their seats in heaven,
For all resourceful men of faith believe
In the insurance of heaven!

I had to pay gold and silver
For just tea and snuff! -
What more proof that our markets
Are not there for public weal!

My leaders have been so busy,
Taken up with family feuds,
That, despite their best intentions,
They couldn't redress my wrongs.

The dark fortnight will end soon,
Light will flood the heavens,
Making my mountains and my caves
As visible as the moon.

If Mahjoor, compelled by love,
Lays bare some bitter truths,
The lovers of my beloved land
Should not take it to heart!