There is a thief in the folds of my arms. <br />Whom shall I tell? <br /> <br />There is a thief in the folds of my arms <br />He has, of late, escaped on the sky <br />No wonder there is a stir in the sky <br />And the world there is a hue and cry. <br />Whom shall I tell? <br /> <br />The Muslims are afraid of fire <br />And the Hindus dread the grave <br />Both of them have their fears <br />And keep on sharpening their staves. <br />Whom shall I tell? <br /> <br />Ramdas here and Fateh Muhammad there <br />This has kept them emitting spleen <br />Suddenly their quarrel came to an end <br />When someone else emerged on the scene. <br />Whom shall I tell? <br /> <br />There was furore in the flushed sky <br />It reached Lahore, the capital town <br />It was Shah Inayat who crafted the kite <br />It’s he who moves it up and down. <br />Whom shall I tell? <br /> <br />He who believes, he alone has known <br />Everyone else id floundering <br />All the wrangling came to an end <br />When Bulleh came to town. <br />Whom shall I tell?<br /><br />Bulleh Shah<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-is-a-thief-in-the-folds-of-my-arms/
