Let us celebrate Basant, the fest of love and life,
You, my love, are the moon, I, a star on high.

My body is all aglow, like the purest, shining gold,
Here I come decked and draped, armed and fortified.

I and my darling sweet should give in to the vernal mood,
Drench ourselves in colours rich, like the tined twilight sky.

After bowling to her lord, Piari joins the floral show,
Plays the sport with such a zest, all her robes get richly dyed.

Charging both her beauteous bowls with the wine of love,
Striking like the lighting flash, my inner being she electrifies.

Her nipples beneath her dripping bra, like the sable night appear,
How can the night withstand the sun, I'm utterly mystified.

So it seems from golden cheeks and bodies yellow-splashed,
That the blazing saffron bloom is now at its golden height.

Qutab has enjoyed Basant, glory be to the Prophet's name,
The universe, from end to end, with colours gay is beautified.

With the birth of rainy season the regin of buds,
Green branches now will don crowns of roses on their heads.

Hold the cups in your hands, fill them with the drops of rain,
There they come, fervour-charged, beauties richly decked and dressed.

Their bodies quiver in chilly air, their bosoms bounce and throb,
As they see their love apporach, their stays, it seems, would snap and burst.

The damsel's face emits a glow like the lighting flash,
And she draws over her face the mantel slipping from her head.

The flowers that adorn her hair shine like the stars on high,
She is Padmini of to-day, dressed in her charming best.

Thunder and lighting fill the sky, heavily doth it pour,
The peacocks with their lilting songs set the grove aburst.

Glory be to Prophet the great, who sent the rains from heaven,
May your regin flourish, O Qutaba, your amorous court be blessed!