When the grandmother, who brought you up, went to her eldest son's to die
You accepted the first match the bacholan brought
Was it your qarin uttered qubool to the N.R.I?
Or was Bilayat your ziyarat to her burial plot?
Today, I wanted to say, trusting to a bacholan of another sort
To the girl crying in the Royal Marsden parking lot
That bit of Britain between the two of you en-stitched
Has, for us all, Jannath enriched.
Prince! Twixt the heart's insurrection & Islam's shaking fist
Tears are the shrapnel of thy true Terrorist