صقليہ

O blood-dripping eye! Now cry to your heart's content; there you can see the mausoleum of the civilization of Hijaz.

This was the rendezvous of those Arab Bedouins once; the ocean was the play ground of whose boats once.

Who shook up the audience halls of emperors; thunderbolts were harboured in whose swords.

Whose appearance was the message of birth of a new world; whose restless sword destroyed the whole ancient world?

The dead world with whose ‘Qum’ was infused with life. Man was freed from the chains of superstitious beliefs.

The ear is still full of pleasures from whose zeal is that Takbâr now silenced for ever?

Ah! O Sicily! You are giving dignity to the ocean; you are like a guide post in the water's expanse.

May the ocean's cheek ever remain elegant with your mole! May your lights ever remain a comfort for the ocean sailor!

May your sight ever remain beautiful to traveler’s eyes! May the wave on your shore's rocks ever remain dancing!

You were the cradle of that nation's civilization once, whose universal beauty was the object for spectacle.

The Nightingale of Shiraz was the lamentor on Baghdad; Dagh shed the tears of blood on Jahanabad.

When the sky destroyed the State of Gharnatah; the unhappy heart of Ibn Badrën lamented.

The ill fated Iqbal has been conferred mourning for you. Destiny has selected the heart that was your confidante.

Whose story is concealed in your relics? In your shore's silence is a style of speech.

Tell me your pathos, I am also embodiment of pathos; I am the dust of the caravan of which you were a stage.

Show me the old picture painted again; make me restless by relating the tale of bygone days.

I will take your gift towards India; I myself weep here, and will make others weep there.