7

Contrary runs our planet, the stars whirl fast, oh Saki! In every atom’s heartbeat a Doomsday blast, oh Saki!

Torn from God’s congregation its dower of faith and reason, And godlessness in fatal allurement dressed, oh Saki

For our inveterate sickness, our wavering heart, the cure— That same joy-dropping nectar as in the past, oh Saki

Within Islam’s cold temple no fire of longing stirs, For still your face is hidden, veiled and unguessed, oh Saki.

Unchanged is Persia’s garden: soil, stream, Tabriz, unchanged; And yet with no new Rumi is her land graced, oh Saki.

But of his barren acres Iqbal will not despair: A little rain, and harvests shall wave at last, oh Saki!

On me, a beggar, secrets of empire are bestowed; My songs are worth the treasures Parvez amassed, oh Saki.