Poem # 37
He placed me in a predicament !
Bewildered, what can a yemberzal
Say to others, like the spring,
The morning breeze and the dew ?
Spring has sent me with a message,
And I came running all the way -
But how shall I say spring's leaving fast,
And what am I to say to summer ?
And what shall I say to violet,
Ivy, sumbal and the yellow flower -
Our lovely guests - eager to know
When the lover of flowers will come ?
I am perplexed when the bulbul
Asks for news from there !
I may evade him on some excuse,
But how shall I bluff my own heart ?
When the garden woke up early dawn,
The breeze had gone away,
How shall I explain why he chose
A burglar's style to wake up the buds ?
Who estranged me from my darling bee,
The light of my eye, for whom I pine ?
What he seeks now, how can I gather
From this medley of gay and wistful notes
After giving each flower a morning wash,
The dew just packs away !
Having watched his acts of selfless love,
How do I account for his fading away ?
I lie in a corner, stunned, abashed.
How on earth can I describe
What these eyes of mine have seen
On my way to that distant goal ?
Mahjoor came with me to see the garden.
How shall I tell him there's nothing we share ?
For while I'm lost observing myself,
He's thrilled by the feast for the eyes !
Poem # 38
baaliye hyes ta hosh hay rovum.....
O friend, my mind is all distraught !
Who weaned my lord oftlove from me ?
Whose witchcraft made him hostile ?
I taught the bulbul songs of love -
Songs that woke up all the flowers.
But I ignored the bird of the mind !
When I poured out my heart to the smiling bush,
The flowers were all aflame with a tearing passion;
I quenched their fire with my tears.
My manifestation, bearing both infidel fragrance
And the colour of the faithful, amazed the garden,
And all hearts of stone decamped in fright.
I posted the poshinool at flower beds
To reveal the truth with a sensible mind,
And inscribe the same on the petals of all flowers.
I dyed my robe in the colour of the sky;
But since it manifested constant change,
My own true colour was lost.
I wanted to know from the horoscope
The date when he and I would meet.
But the jyotshi went wrong, and I was lost.
My many complaints made me lose him at Chhanazal
(Did he suspect a hidden attack ?)
At Tosmaidan he was angry, and I lost him again !
Waking up the dew-drenched bud from sleep,
I saw that he wouldn't last, and gave him
The wine of love, and left him full of nectar.
I bedecked myself with eagerness,
And scent from my body floated wide;
But he chose rather to see my mind !
I made Mahjoor sing songs of love
Which alone can chase the blues away.
That's how I composed my distracted heart.