Poem # 61
saaqiya aabaad roozin taa abad
may your wine never cease to flow,
And may your glass forever have
The radiance of the sun !
It's when thorns clutch your robe
In the darkness of the night,
That you'll know how close you are
To the flowers in the field.
Your mosque and your temple
Are manifest round your eyes -
Your eyebrows solemn pulpits,
Your face a divine image.
When a leaf with the swaying breeze
Floated down at dusk,
The moth saw it as the candle's message
To immolate himself in fire.
With we two hand in hand,
Let rocks move and mountains shake,
Mine will be love's loud, clear call,
Yours the symphonies.
Love's lightning hit the cypress
On which I had built a nest.
My habitat was burnt away;
May yours ever stand !
In battle death comes once;
In love it's every moment.
But lovers do not mind
How dear your friendship proves !
Your table makes no distinction
Between friends and strangers,
Between kafirs and men of faith.
It's open to all lovers !
Mahjoor, O knowing souls, has come
With a new song for you !
It has some subtle point
For you to ponder over.
Poem # 62
lalanaavan tshaayi thaavan
more delicate than a flower,
And more precious than my life;
My heart is its permanent home,
And I its vigilant guard !
It's love that drew me on
To the flower bush in Shalamar
From my nest in the thorn shrubs
Growing on desolate land.
Tell me how autumn brings only blight,
Leaving spring to repair the damage,
For while yemberzal blooms in spring,
Autumn brings saffron flowers !
Be like Satyabhama, who knew that God
Can never be weighed with wealth.
Rejecting all her diamonds,
She weighed Krishna with her love.
I begged in the evening for a view
Of his beauteous form. His answer came
As a staggering medley greeting my eyes,
When dawn broke over the mountain peaks.
You have no faith in what I say,
But - don't mind my being frank ! -
Having the heart of a policeman,
You do not know compassion.
No one forgives a starving man
Who steals to feed himself,
But how about the rich hiring hands,
To have thousands done to death ?
My words one day will be parables,,
My call acquire a force;
Only let Hairat's spirit wake up,
And may Zinda Kaul live long !
Mahjoor, love's fire must be borne
In silence, as by a cooking stove;
For you can comfort others only
When you have borne this fire.