Let a life of peace and contentment be my faith
May my ship never sink even in troubled waters
Let this be my faith.
It's not that heaven would not to be acceptable to me, but
O Writer of Destinies, let Madina be my faith.
O King of holy sanctuary
Bless us with your merciful gaze
So that our days of woe may turn for the better
O patron of the poor, what would the world say.
If we return empty-handed from your door?
We have no one to call our own, we are stricken with grief
We come and cry for justice at your door.
Please spare us as a merciful glance,
Or we will die at your threshold, crying your name.
Come dovoted lovers, let's go to Madina
Let's go and drink from the hand of Cupbearer of Kausar
Keep in mind that,
If he looks up but once
All the wine cups that are empty will become filled!
In the fear of storm, and dread of lightning
Our distress is severe, master, to whom should we turn?
If we would not trouble to see how we fare
Our afflictions would surely **** us.
Yours is the hand all the helpless and hopeless grasp
I am sinner, feeble and helpless
Friendless and destiture, and you
Are the only one who cares for me.
O musk-willow, scattering fragrance
O sweet breeze of early morning
O you who cures ill
O you the breath of God
O consoler of grief-stricken
O auspicious messenger
I beg you in the name of same fragrance
O morning breeze, if you go
To the scared land someday
Present my greetings at the blessed grave
Where the revered Prophets rests
O patron of the poor, what would the world say
If we return empty-handed from your door?
