The world at this moment of night has turned into a mosque. br The world at this moment of night has turned br a silent sweet mat of prayer. br br All the movements have come to a close, br all the dins of horizon have become still. br br After the day's toil of tilling sins and virtues like a tractor br the tired locality like a dead body has entered into the stony sleep. br In the province of sleep, only the sleepless stars br bathing in the moonlight of Jikir* blaze to decorate the sky. br br The world at this moment of night has turned into a mosque, br has turned into the quite solitude of the grave. br br Like a pot made of glass br let the sleep be broken to those br let the sleep be broken to those br let the sleep be broken to those br who are wiling to subdue the moaning of heart br who are wiling to pick up the gold of timeless pardon br in their blissful fists.