Poems written on the various entrances and releases from prison:
Grieve not over imprisonment in the cage, but do not forget the actions of the plucker of the rose.
Oh foolish nightingale ! When free in the garden, When did you ever find repose ?
Every day belongs to loneliness, every night to solitude,
Every meeting has become a reunion with isolation.
Every instant is a solace, every moment a relief,
Every minute is heart-warming, a consolation.
The demands of paradise and the promises of heaven
Are the topics of each day, and each night's consideration.
Sitting idly, Jauhar, it is fine to indulge in renunciation,
The rains won't hold back thus, in the season of intoxication.
At last victory has come, granted by Heaven. Is the prayer of the oppressed ever wholly without heed ?
Where is that deluge of arrogance of the past ?
In a twinkling, what an overflowing stream has fled !
The state of the world had been totally changed.
The sighs of the helpless have done a marvelous deed !
You have curbed neither my wings nor my imagination.
Oh huntress, what has become of thy habitual heed ?
Oh my love, I shall always remember your company.
Despair accompanied our separation, but it has fled.

If even a whiff of the flowers brings grief,
Perhaps we have become too accustomed to the cage.
Imprisoned for the sake of freedom,
Can it be that we have a taste for either stage ?
Oh flower-plucker, we gave up the garden freely,
Why then should we complain of imprisonment or cage ?
Poem written by Muhummad Ali’s Mother:

Thus spake the mother of Muhammad Ali,
Son, give your life for the Khilafat.
And with you, too, Shaukat Ali,
Son, give your life for the Khilafat.
Don't give your old mother cause for grief,
But confessing your faith, give up your life.
Give your all in this hour of trial,
Son, give your life for the Khilafat.
Even had I had seven sons,
I'd sacrifice them all for the Khilafat.
This is the way of the faith of the Prophet,
Son, give your life for the Khilafat.