I am a pagan and a worshiper of love: the creed (of Muslims) I do not need;
Every vein of mine has become taunt like a wire,
Dear Mom, send my dad across; the rainy season has come.
Oh, dear daughter, how can I?
Beholding your appearance, Oh Nijaam
I offer myself in sacrifice.
Amongst all the girls, my scarf is the most soiled,
The yellow mustard is blooming in every field,
Mango buds are clicking open, other flowers too;
The koyal chirps from branch to branch,
And the maiden tries her make-up,
Oh Khusrau, the river of love runs in strange directions.
One who jumps into it drowns, and one who drowns, gets across.