At the Tomb of the heaven-resting emperor Babur

Come, for the harp of the West has fallen out of tune. There is no note in its chords but only a wail.

Time has a thousand times adorned old idols; I have not swerved from the Harem because it has a firm foundation.

The banner of the Ottomans has risen high again, I know not what has befallen the Timurids.

How happy that your body has found rest here. For this land is free from the witchcraft of the West.

Kabul is a thousand times better than Delhi which has been the bride of so many bridegrooms.

I preserve the bloody tears in my eyes because I am a poor fakir and this is God given wealth.

Although the High Priest of the Harem keeps reciting la ilah, Where is the glance sharper than a steel blade?