بخش 13 - تو هم آن می بگیر از ساغر دوست

You too take the wine from friend’s cup warm, To be for ever in the friend’s arm.

No bows are these O, ‘Aziz of Arab land’, From eyelash I’m dusting my friend’s door sand,

A poor man I’m, you hold the ‘Arab’s reign, I hold a king’s place in meaning’s domain.

A world which grew up from Layla’s seed, Its root are quite deep in my faith and creed.

A look of pain I’m and see no cure quick, I boast not but weep being old, weak and sick.

I’m lost arrow though, put in nation’s bow, Use me again if the nation thinks so,

Let ‘tis join hands to spread his love’s flame. Leave the world whole and work not for fame.

Within the holy walls of the friend’s home, Till tears flow blood, dance around his dome.

You hold a high place in the desert’s land, Whose eyes are bright like a mirror house grand.

Where e’er you wish you may pitch up the tents. But ban a feast there if the tent chords are lent.

Being Muslims we make no home and false ties, From a circle aloof, we are nine skies.

He taught us a kowtow from which we knows The price of each god to whom the men how.

To anglian idols pay not a heed, The worth of her bonds is not a malt’s seed.

From the Farooq’s bold eyes borrow a glance, Make a fearless jump in the new age hence.