O you, the product of my months and years; 

The freshly blossomed rose in my courtyard!

The image of my innocent dream, 

The verdant shadow of my Virgin Mary— 

Greetings to you from the morning of creation; 

Life salutes you.

.

O you, the newly kindled flame

Of the sacred earth,

May you light up those spaces

Which are entrusted to my chest,

And smile at my unanswered prayers

Like the melody heard in the distance.

.

I inherited ruins from my ancestors

Where I was crushed, 

Dust—crusted, for my whole life;

Tomorrow’s worry was my lot

Which, after bathing me in my own blood,

Kept me in Life’s captivity.

.

O you, beautiful reflection of the soul of my art!

May you not have a life like mine!

May you become all I could not;

May you not be my heir;

May your name be known in those places

I did not visit, not even in my imagination.

.

        1959

.

From: Nayā ʻahdnāmah (New Testament). ʻAlīgaṛh: ʻAlīgaṛh Buk Hāʼūs, 1965. pp. 105 – 106