Poem # 41
bulbul chhu baraan chaav ...
- The bulbul rejoices that
- Gay spring has come again.
- The spring breeze is all a flutter, sensing
- Keen expectancy in the air.
- Flowers have set up beauty stalls
- In the gardens of love.
- See what's written on flower petals,
- To know what beauty means !
- The early breeze hinted to the crow:
- 'Don't waste your time on words !
- The meaning does not matter here;
- You better learn the art !'
- Why should men of stature shun
- The company of lesser men ?
- How does a flower feel at home,
- Being in the midst of thorns ?
- I tried to conceal my inner self,
- But it did burst-forth
- Like fragrance always issues out,
- Tearing the chest of the flower.
- Gazing hard at all the flowers,
- Mistaking each for my beloved,
- I found them all silent. The bulbul said,
- 'Why must you raise a strife ?"
- Flowers wither in autumn,
- But come again in spring.
- Life always returns after death;
- So leave the fear of death.
- When summer ends, all flowers take flight
- At the sight of the autumn wind;
- But you must always remember
- That autumn trio does not last.
- Mahjoor, there is no Kashmiri
- Who has recognised you so far.
- Those who will know you, except a few,
- Have not yet been born.
Poem # 42
shaad sapnum dil me boozum....
- The news that he'll be
our guest tonight
- Fills my heart with boundless joy -
- My dearest friend, with heart and eyes
- Brimming over with constant love !
- The gardener, moving round the bushes
- And adorning the garden, says:
- To waft the news all abroad
- That the Lord of Love will come.
- The freshness of the yemberzal,
- The youth of the hyacinth,
- The bulbul's enchanting melodies
- Are all offerings at his feet.
- With honest virtue standing guard,
- Verdure need fear no ravage.
- Those who were busy amassing wealth
- Will fall like autumn leaves.
- How enamourned of me was everyone
- When I was draped in blossoms !
- And, O how stones were hurled at me,
- When the blossoms changed to fruit !
- The flower, w o is the prophet of spring,
- Has with him four constant friends -
- Fragrance and the morning breeze,
- The singing bulbul and the dew.
- Flowers are slaves of time,
- But the bulbul knows no such fetters !
- Would you like to be a gul or a bulbul ? -
- The choice is always yours !
- Mahjoor, your words, the seekers feel,
- Are no less than life-giving nectar.
- Were you not a serving halqadar.
- We'd call you a hallowed saint !