In night’s expansive silence,

When the moon feels drowsy

And branches bend with the weight of flowers

Create an atmosphere of lullabies;

.

When, mingling in the lake’s mirror

The gait of the stars has been lost, 

Every tree seems a picture

And every flower a question;

.

When, from the earth to heaven’s heights,

The wrinkle of Time unfurls,

When the silence of centuries

Has pitched its tent from my thought to God,

.

Then on my burning heart

Someone sprinkles dew

And from the divine chamber 

Someone calls out to Man.

.

December 1953

From: Dasht-i vafā (Desert of Fidelity), 1953. pp. 74 – 75