The beginning of spring and the shut door
roars like a lion the Narcissus odour
wet wind dances with the young green
further I want is you and nothing more
Has a command on the flowering season
and to touch it is like an offence
though nature has not given it a tongue
but openly talks of its presence
Beauty and power put pride in veins
of everyone timely with a joy or sortle
let me smell the blooming Narcissus
the thing more beautiful is more mortal.
Writings of Mohammad Ilyas 