The bulbul rejoices that winter's gone,
Gay spring has come again.
The spring breeze is all a flutter, sensing
Keen expectancy in the air.

Flowers have set up beauty stalls
In the gardens of love.
See what's written on flower petals,
To know what beauty means !

The early breeze hinted to the crow:
'Don't waste your time on words !
The meaning does not matter here;
You better learn the art !'

Why should men of stature shun
The company of lesser men ?
How does a flower feel at home,
Being in the midst of thorns ?

I tried to conceal my inner self,
But it did burst-forth
Like fragrance always issues out,
Tearing the chest of the flower.

Gazing hard at all the flowers,
Mistaking each for my beloved,
I found them all silent. The bulbul said,
'Why must you raise a strife ?'

Flowers wither in autumn,
But come again in spring.
Life always returns after death;
So leave the fear of death.

When summer ends, all flowers take flight
At the sight of the autumn wind;
But you must always remember
That autumn trio does not last.

Mahjoor, there is no Kashmiri
Who has recognised you so far.
Those who will know you, except a few,
Have not yet been born.