I lay down in the empty street and parked
My feet against the gutter's curb while from
The building above a bunch of gawkers perched
Along its ledges urged me don't, don't jump.

A barren field o'ergrown with thorn and weed
It stays for him who waits for help from God:
Only the soul that makes a plough of Need
Shall know what blossoms underneath its sod.

Sun and wind and beat of sea,
Great lands stretching endlessly…
Where be bonds to bind the free?
All the world was made for me!

Propitious he is, upon whom Shabbir showers affection,
Rewarded are the high and the low, with compassion,
A pebble he can turn into a touchstone,
And speck of dust into balm and unction.

Mohammed-like Sovereign, the world hasn’t seen,
Aware of each divine secret, he has been,
Subtle are the words, regarding the Apostle’s Ascent,
Speak not; all speech here appears but lean.

In the orchard, the wind blows but for Thee,
The music of nightingale flows but for Thee,
Each object mirrors they Majesty and Magnificence,
Each flower I smell, mellows but for Thee.

Wherefore ever ramble on?

For the Good is lying near,
Fortune learn to seize alone,

For that Fortune's ever here.

Hum aaj punah aikatrit hain
Adhyapak divas manaane ko
Hain bahut rinni hum guruyon ke
Yah aadambar dikhlane ko

“O WOODMAN, spare that block,
Oh gash not anyhow!
It took ten days by clock,
I'd fain protect it now.”
Chorus—Wild Laughter from Dalziel's Workshop.

I do not question whether I am happy or unhappy.
Yet there is one thing that I keep gladly in mind --
that in the great addition (their addition that I abhor)
that has so many numbers, I am not one
of the many units there. In the final sum
I have not been calculated. And this joy suffices me.