Since love first made the breast an instrument
Of fierce lamenting, by its flame my heart
Was molten to a mirror, like a rose
I pluck my breast apart, that I may hang
This mirror in your sight
Gaze you therein.
I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky, And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon.
I am but as the spark that gleams for a moment,
His burning candle consumed me - the moth;
His wine overwhelmed my goblet,
The master of Rum transmuted my earth to gold
And set my ashes aflame.
But only a brief moment
is granted to the brave
one breath or two, whose wage is
The long nights of the grave.
I, therefore, demand the formation of a consolidated Muslim State in
the best interest of India and Islam.