Again, we came in horrible darkness;

We were deceived by the sounding of the hour.

                       Ah! How our dreams can create gardens!

                      As soon as we opened our eyes, the garden withered.

Who was it who, near the destination,

Had spread sheets of mirrors?

                      Their coming was nothing less than a doomsday;

                      And when they left, they created havoc again.

Again, that very system of counting stars!

We’re fed up with this repetition.

                      Those whirlwinds we thought to be

                      The spring cloud—how many gardens did they ravish.

While they kept on hiding the purpose

Of man’s evolution, we found it anyway.

                      Now only a typhoon will bring the dawn, for

                      When the sun arose, the clouds turned dark.

.

1953

From: Sho‘lah-i gul(Flame of the Rose), 1953. pp 194 – 95