1. Distress me not, for months and pilgrims passed
In Herat since it housed me as I dwelled

2. Distress me not, where hearing you is blessed
With bounty, where the folded cloth excelled

3. Suffice that land bore fruit for you, while dearth
Of rain afflicted me, as Amirs failed

4. Abu Bakr tribe who governors field and stream
As clouds do rain or streams do swells upheld

5. To whom the brave for refuge sprints, when death
Spears spill their blood and rigid corpses build

6. To him old Nizam kingdom’s reins furled
Before the seas could life’s last ships repel

7. So seek, Malik’s son, Bakr’s ancient world
And make the bone which broken is, to mend well