AN ADVICE OF OLD BALUCH
TO HIS SON
I pray desert breeze would harmonize thee,
To desert tops not, Delhi Basra’s glee.
Like a moving gale, move any where,
This desert and dales would hail thee there.
In tug and pull’s race Envy is a grace,
Which puts Darius1 crown on poor man’s face.
Get this hid skill from a paragon2 lone,
It is said that glass can be turned to stone.
In each man’s hand lies the nation’s fate,
Each man is a star of nation’s great.
That diver was robbed of wealth of sea,
Who was afraid to leave the shore with glee.
If his freedom hangs on the faith’s bargain,
In such a bargain he stands not to gain.
The soul and body yet face a clash,
This culture has made her wild beasts rash.
Allah has faith in Momin’s might and will,
On Europe’s hardware Satan makes his skill.
On the fate of nations none cant foretell,
On the Momin’s shrewd look you can always dwell.
A selfless life learn from foremost in deen,
The kings may favour a man of poor means.