Some adore the forms of stones;
Some adore the dead Saints’ bones;
Some adore the things they make;
They are misled so mistake.
They think they gain from these things;
They forget the King of kings.
How so unthoughtful they are!
They are from the goal too far.
In such things some don’t believe;
In the lurch, they know, they leave.
I adore Lord the supreme:
I am wakeful, not in dream.
By,
Aziz Ahmad 'Aziz Moradabadi'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem