There are no Cressets, there is no light;
There is existence, but there is no quale;
There are no flames, there is no fire.
A weird city of blinds;
There are eyes, but there is no sight.
In the streets of Mulla’s;
There are taverns but no Rummers.
This was the house of Mansoor;
Here inebriation was in dust;
Here conscious was one passionate insanity;
Here death was existence;
Here beauty was unity-the adoration of admirer;
Here prayer was sitar’s melody;
Salutation was friendship.
Now this city is about to wreck;
Crowd is inclined but there is no Imam;
There are no flowers but only names;
Bewail! There is existence but there is no quale of life.
Palace is ready, Laila is waiting;
But there is no Majnoon, there is no Majnoon;
In this Weird World of Colors;
White is absent, and there is no Black.
On this weird Path of mine;
There is no laager nor destination;
There is no craziness nor Senselessness;
There is no beauty, there is no light;
Bizarre Saaqi(cup-bearer) and rummer;
There is no laughter, nor Passion;
In this World of mine, there is no ray of light.