The news that he'll be our guest tonight
Fills my heart with boundless joy -
My dearest friend, with heart and eyes
Brimming over with constant love !

The gardener, moving round the bushes
And adorning the garden, says:
To waft the news all abroad
That the Lord of Love will come.

The freshness of the yemberzal,
The youth of the hyacinth,
The bulbul's enchanting melodies
Are all offerings at his feet.

With honest virtue standing guard,
Verdure need fear no ravage.
Those who were busy amassing wealth
Will fall like autumn leaves.

How enamourned of me was everyone
When I was draped in blossoms !
And, O how stones were hurled at me,
When the blossoms changed to fruit !

The flower, w o is the prophet of spring,
Has with him four constant friends -
Fragrance and the morning breeze,
The singing bulbul and the dew.

Flowers are slaves of time,
But the bulbul knows no such fetters !
Would you like to be a gul or a bulbul ? -
The choice is always yours !

Mahjoor, your words, the seekers feel,
Are no less than life-giving nectar.
Were you not a serving halqadar.
We'd call you a hallowed saint !