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I don't belong to Fars or Hind,
To Iraq or Hejaz don't trace my breed
The Self to me this much has taught
Spurn both the worlds and pay no heed.

You are a heathen in my view
The same to you may seem my creed
To count the breath, your Faith and goal,
While melting breath my job and deed.

Your change, no doubt, is good and well,
And so your change of Moslem Creed
This Faith is meant for men, like hawks,
It suits not pheasants' quivering breed.

Such passionate Love of God and craze,
In wilds and wastes has not caught my sight,
Whose magic force and rapture great,
The faults of reason may set right.

A poet must ne'er keep aloof
From noisy fretful stream of life
The bard, who shuns the facts and truths,
Can't make the nation face its strife.

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