O Lord of Love, I surrender myself,
Body and soul to your will ! Show me
The right path, and sustain my failing courage !

The buds are amazed when they behold
Sunset fire and morning dew,
Black night and radiant flowering dawn.

Lightning struck my nest, high up
On the branch, setting it ablaze.
A fine illumination, the gardener thought !

Love's alchemy changed my dross into gold,
When its flames enveloped me from top to toe.
How false the fear my friends had fed me on !

How to one, whose mind is not awake,
Can winter and summer be different things ?
For what to him are feasts of flowers ?

The flower prides itself on beauty, and claims
Its fragrance, lovely Messes and its mole
Are a soothing balm for broken hearts.

Ephemeral, however, is his glory !
Death's harbingers, storm and decay,
Soon pursue him to an early grave.

The bulbul to the flower 'Superb is your beauty,
But for one defect - you don't have speech !
And no one survives here without this gift !'

Remember, life 's a queer blend of opposites -
Song and lamentation, bustle and haste,
Now dance, now clangorous din rending the air !

Bulbul, the householder, sees the flower,
His guest, arrive when day dawns, and depart
At dusk. He waits for the end of it all.

O Mahjoor, become the spring breeze
Moving towards the garden with slow steps,
And keep on waking up sleeping souls !