1. Stand still, my feet! This place
Makes one lose all sense,

2. Sands and ruins of a palace fallen -
Its heights search for their base.

3. I turn my eyes, distraught,
And ask my day about its past,

4. Did life flow in this place
While lids slumbered in rest?

5. And bulbuls sang in joy,
Fortunes running in success and loss?

6. Shall I ask the rock about its sculptor
And rouse the dead from their repose?

7. The hooves of the steed of time stamp hard
As if to narrate its woes,

8. No thorns suckle its breast,
No owl hoots on its head.

9. Terrified are the spiders
Seeking escape from its enclosure.

10. Tired is the hand of destruction,
Fearing to touch and cause offense.

11. And death commits suicide in despair.