'O' Mother to whom shall I tell the story of my separation's grief.
The fire lit inside me by the teacher smolders and smokes
As I stir the ambers, I see the red Jewel
The pain of separation has driven me mad
Suffering is the bread I eat
Pain is my curry dip, sighs of grief my cooking fire
I roam the jungles and deserts in vain
Says Hussain, the God's fakir:
How happy I will be to find my prince!'