High mountains, do not boast about your height
For you1ll become as flat as molten gold.
Rough seas, do not be proud about your might,
For you'll become in time land dry and old.

The forest lion and elephant, meanwhile,
Shrink mouse-like when mosquitoes sting and poke:
The mighty crocodile who rules Oxus and Nile
Counts for no more than badly beaten moke!

My talk of Judgement Day is not a joke:
Unfair beating's a crime you'll one day cry on.
Oppressors then will have to play the moke -
The poor, of course, will be the forest lion.

Riders prance by - we see them cheek-to-cheek
With lovely women - antics Heaven mocks.
Such faithless poseurs really are the weak.
With faith, you pass Above strong as an ox.

With everyone, you try to put them right.
Why don't you keep your own advice in mind?
Follow the wise - you might regain your sight.
Follow the daft - you might as well be blind.

If, like Lukman, you have a panacea,
Like Alexander, conquer land and sea,
Like Rustam, rule those tribes both far and near:
You'd be a giant - with humility.

Humility! says Makhtumkuli. Hush
Follow perfection, love the straight and tall,
Work like the patient ox, sing like the thrush.
Listen! Perfection is the end of all.