My heart has no repose in this despoiled land br Who has ever felt fulfilled in this futile world? br br The nightingale complains about neither the sentinel nor the hunter br Fate had decreed imprisonment during the harvest of spring br br Tell these longings to go dwell elsewhere br What space is there for them in this besmirched heart? br br Sitting on a branch of flowers, the nightingale rejoices br It has strewn thorns in the garden of my heart br br I asked for a long life, I received four days br Two passed in desire, two in waiting. br br The days of life are over, evening has fallen br I shall sleep, legs outstretched, in my tomb br br How unfortunate is Zafar! For his burial br Not even two yards of land were to be had, in the land of his beloved.