O Lord! This world of Thine has a winsome face

Reason is either luminous, or it seeks proofs;
Proof—seeking reason is but an excess of wonder.

Thine alone is what I possess in this handful of dust;
And to keep it safe is beyond my power, O Lord.

My songs of lament were all inspired by Thee;
If they have reached the stars, it is no fault of mine.

Art Thou pleased, O Lord, with man’s imperfection?
Why repeat a flawed attempt, and make his shame eternal?

The Western ways have tried to make me a renegade;
But why are our mullahs a disgrace to Muslims?

Fools think man is a bondman of destiny;
But man has still the power to break the bonds of fate.

Thou hast Thy pantheon, and I have mine,
O Lord, Both have idols of dust; both have idols that die.