Dainty different dishes set before you -
But with no salt no savour to the bread.
No savour to a future still unknown,
No eyes ahead and no eyes in the head.

Legs are for walking, hands for holding hands -
The faithful lift their hands to God when young
In thanks for health. With practice, ears can hear
Though not a word is spoken by the tongue.

God fashioned souls from something like dried mud.
Faith flowers from souls as roses from fine mould.
The bud knows not the flower, nor flower the seed:
We know the One1 though He remains untold.

The happy man will find his means enough,
The preacher always finds the means to preach.
But tongue and heart stand still until we find
In every heart, love speaking each to each.

Our acts of shame will still proliferate
Unless the end is one that God decides:
While worldly talk is bread without its salt
Unless it dwells on subjects such as brides.

Close your eyes and grit your teeth. You may,
In May, remember winter winds impend.
Rely on God - your deeds are his Design:
Be patient! All will end up in the end

O Makhtumkuli struggles in a net
Of fantasy, and does not understand.
My visions speak. Friends, do not blame me for
My words - grander come only from the grand.