Poem # 21
vesiye kya malaala rot Jaanaanan....
why is my love so cross with me
That he has chosen to live in fairylands?
To whom shall I reveal my agony?
He left to roam in meadows of flowers.
When he rested for a moment under the pomegranate trees,
Bright buds burst into ecstatic bloom.
When lovers' hearts were put up for sale,
The bidding was so brisk in the market of love
That sweet-bosomed belle got eleven for a cowry!
The belle, far gone on jewels and
Adorned herself in her splendid room,
Till the storm of love ended this madness of youth.
When she straightened the coils of her
Light dived into her pearls to hide,
And breezes wafted her fragrance to flowers.
Her lovely face, under the canopy of
Shone like a king, flanked by his guards,
Or like the radiant moon at the dead of night.
My mind, like one roaming in the
Of forests, mountains and appalling wastes,
Suffered an agony I cannot describe.
A flower among thorns, who know not his
Is like a wise man lost among fools.
Born of the same mother, they think they're equal!
In the agony of separation, I visited
Tied votive rags in various shrines,
Sought him on dark nights in the pir's abode.
Plant my heart in a flower vase,
For i. grew where the fragrant hyacinths bloom,
Remaining faithful to the opening buds
Mir's old wine fills new cups now.
Stocks have reached all taverns for sale.
Pour it into glasses, Mahjoor, and serve!
Poem # 22
lama iii sail chase payola barnaavaan....
sweetheart is coming as my guest. !
I'm making garlands of flowers,
Filling glasses and carpeting bowers in Shalamar!
Looking at the garden from this height,
I feel lost, seeing departing caravans
Of flowers slowly on the move.
My tears roll down in streams
When he is far away from me,
And I am pierced with taunts.
One moment he makes me roam in heaven,
Where the houries envy my swinging ear rings;
But very soon he lays me low on the dust!
How oft he has made me swallow grief! -
Not that I record these episodes,
For though he slays, he does restore my life.
To watch him enjoy the meadow flowers,
I lie hiding in the forest shades,
With sylvan fairies singing songs of love.
His words lie enshrined in my heart - a
Which my lips don't know, like the gardener
Doesn't know what the gut tells the bulbul!
With loving care I adorn myself with
And scent my jessamine skin.
But, O how futile, if my lord accepts me not!
My diamond was tested in every shop
In the market of love, but wouldn't sell,
Found wanting because of a fault.
My ardent love saps my strength.
When I lie down by his side,
For he doesn't unbutton his heart
I'm unnerved when he's annoyed with me,
But I nurse the pain in my heart;
Or, like Mahjoor, weave my complaints into songs.