To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city
From which my heart might leap to heaven.
Her breasts are a garden of white roses
Having two drifted hills of fallen rose-leaves.
Her breasts are a garden where doves are singing
And doves are moaning with arrows because of her.
All her body is a flower and her face is Shalibagh;
She has fruits of beautiful colours and the doves abide there.
Over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair....
You have killed Tavakkul, the faithful pupil of Abdel Qadir Gilani.
From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).