Men and roses go insane, it is very hot,
Feet do burn on fiery white marble plot.
Astana is dense with devotees and Sun
Scorch the floorings like an oven's burn:
Two challenge each other for superiority
It is human determination and priority.
Roses are red and afresh as a ‘plane load
Each day by Srinagar, only roses on board,
A city in the hills six hundred miles away
Keeps a burden of milling crowds at bay,
Satires appetite of ever swelling throng
Each requests casket of rose petals long.
Now exceeding ten hundred thousand
Darud and Salaams they sing as a band,
Hunger and thirst the sea unmindful of
In high spirits and cheerful they are off.
Tightly packed and slowly drifting ahead
Intoxicated and roses held on each head.
At the Astana a marvel of patience to bear
Outcome is in no doubt to them or to share.
Yelling confidently to the Almighty Allah
And the one Bestowed by Rasoolallah.
At Peace they are all before him today,
Are true devotees of my
Khwaja Garib Nawaz.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem