Far away under the dense shade of the banyan tree, silent and sad 

Where under the black shroud of night

The past and present, like a sinful worshipper, 

Silently cry over their misdeeds.

.

The broken spire on dome

Stares at the river flowing nearby,

And on the broken wall an owl

Recites an elegy of past glory.

.

Gusts of wind buried the dust-covered lamps

Every day in under a new layer of mud;

And the parting breaths of the sun, taking leave, 

Extinguished the lights in the window.

.

The disappointment of morning and evening sitting near the dome 

Listens to the wandering prayers

Thirsting to be accepted 

And holds its broken heart.

.

Or a swallow, at the approach of winter,

Seeks the mosque out for making its nest;

And curling up for hours in the broken arch
Tells the story of cold countries.

.

Sometimes an old donkey while passing by

Sits dozing for a while under the shade of the wall;

Or a traveler comes; he too, fearing, stops for a moment.

The floor does not know what sweeping is?

.

The floor does not know what sweeping is;

The rooms for ritual bathing are not aware of a drop of dew

In the niche there are still the tears of the candle,

Now there is neither prayer carpet the pulpit.

.

The messages and blessings of the Master of Heaven have come;

The mountains and the doors will not hear the voice of Gabriel; 

No more, perhaps, will the foundation be laid for any Kaaba;

The voice of Abraham been lost in the Plains of Forgetfulness.

.

Noon passes by laughing blandly;

The stars spread out their washed sheet

On the body of the beloved of God’s heart

Only dew comes and stains her eyes here.

.

A somewhat dirty, lonely and despondent earthen lamp 

Says everyday with its shivering diseased hands:

“You light me; but you should also put me out sometimes;

One burns, but another goes out.”

.

Every flood-carrying wave of the fast-flowing river

Cries out from that distance: “Mortal, mortal!

I will sweep you away tomorrow breaking the bonds of the bank,

And then the dome and minaret too will be just water.”

.

From: Yāden̲ (Remembrances), 1963. pp. 28 – 31