The hill outside our village looks
Much like a horse1s saddle. We'll
See useless people who are like
        Bad scripts which in gold leaf congeal.

This world is deep1 enduring deep!
You might drown in it - do not sleep,
Rein in your pride! Better to weep -
        Life is the maze through which we steal.

Those without wives have tears to spare;
Those without children no jewels wear,
And without brothers nothing dare:
        Their happy days hold wan appeal.

The wicked leave no permanent
Bequest, while nobles rest content.
But worldly riches ? - Quickly spent:
        Only a son's your lasting weal.

Upon a wound, salt is no kaif
To soothe the bitterness of life.
A decent husband's naughty wife
        Is like a wound that will not heal.

She sleeps with snakes, her neck around,
Or cuddles with some mangy hound.
But when a virtuous wife is found -
        She is a jewel, a man's ideal.

O Makhtumkuli, some, I've heard,
Are happy. Sadness is preferred.
He who won't accept my word
        Is but a ship without a keel.