I am the sinner’s fault, somewhat, Your devotee, O God, somewhat. I do not understand whole or part, In my heart, I know not all, somewhat. I remain … - Bahadur Shah Zafar

Friend is he, who grasps the hand of Friend,
In the midst of trouble and distress,
Not they who in prosperity profess
Themselves friends, nay are brothers by repute.
A Friend is he, who proffers Friendship's hand
When care or grief our kindred feelings claim
Not he whom prosperous days alone command
And is a Friend or Brother but in name.

As long as there remains the scent of faith in the hearts of our Ghazis,
so long shall the sword of Hindustan flash before the throne of London.

My heart has no repose in this despoiled land
Who has ever felt fulfilled in this futile world?
The nightingale complains about neither the sentinel nor the hunter
Fate had decreed imprisonment during the harvest of spring
Tell these longings to go dwell elsewhere
What space is there for them in this besmirched heart?
Sitting on a branch of flowers, the nightingale rejoices
It has strewn thorns in the garden of my heart
I asked for a long life, I received four days
Two passed in desire, two in waiting.
The days of life are over, evening has fallen
I shall sleep, legs outstretched, in my tomb
How unfortunate is Zafar! For his burial
Not even two yards of land were to be had, in the land of his beloved.