Ek haji Madinay ke raastay mein

The caravan is plundered, and the goal is far away; The shore of this dry sea, this desert, offers no bay.

My fellow travelers fell, by bandit's dagger slain; The rest, with broken hearts, turned to God's House again.

That youth from Bukhara, with what great joy he died; In death's own poisoned draught, he found new life inside.

The robber's dagger seemed the crescent of the Eid; "Ah, Yathrib!" in his heart, on his lips, the One God's creed.

Fear speaks: "To Yathrib's gates, do not now dare to tread." But Passion cries: "You are a Muslim! Go without dread!"

Shall I turn back to God's own House, my visit left undone? And on the Day of Reckoning, the lovers' gazes shun?

The wanderer of Hejaz has no fear of death's abyss; The secret of the Hijra of Yathrib's tomb is this.

Though safety's with the Syrian train, a guarded, steady ride, The bliss of Passion lives where mortal risks abide.

Ah! This calculating Reason, how cunningly it's made, And yet the soul of man, how bold and unafraid!