Every new generation casts a new idol—

Then every new idol, new temple, new modes of worship.

The conch has gone on being played; the coloured lights being lit; 

The soul has gone on melting; Man goes on being forlorn.

Sapphire and topaz were turn down from the royal palaces; 

Helpless—the masses gulp down pebbles;

The flower of charity changes into withered thorns;

Golden reins tighten about parched mouths.

On the other side of gold-brocaded veils, beauty went on being sold;

Love kept listening to the noise of clashing steel;

Caravans have gone on being plundered; destinations being unknown;

The moon has gone on being extinguished; 

The imprisoned chakora bird has gone on staring blankly.

Every new age came, carrying a hundred hopes in its lap;

Life remained broken, wretched, helpless;

One emperor got up; another emperor moved forward;

From the day of creation, this earth has been caught in this cycle.

Suddenly the smoke-filled window made a rattling sound;

The bright candle swelled up; the flame’s tongue trembled;

from the lowlands of shivering darkness arose

The red glow, singing the song of a new dawn.

The horizon’s redness is the reflection of a new age;

This decoration is for a new beauty;

Low and high have come down to one level;

Now which man has a claim of sovereignty?

.

 1944

From:Intik̲h̲āb-i kalām aḥmad nadīm qāsimī , 1956. pp. 26 – 28