poshi vuni baghuch poshi gondari ye....
Bouquet from Beauty's
Heemaal of Heaven or Caucassian
O peasant girl, what grace!
Flowering plant in the woodland of freedom,
Who filled your buds with
Whose brush painted you in
gorgeous rainbow colours?
Exquisite beauty, how simple is your attire,
With neither flashy border
O bright Kartik moon, draped
in black clouds!
Queen of the fairies, you roam in freedom
In glens and fragrant bowers,
Like a honeybee gathering
With song on your lips, O bright song bird,
You glide among flowers, scattering
Like sweet basil leaves growing
wild on green banks.
I heard you singing on the heights
Like one playing on the harp
And the fairies clapped their
hands in joy.
What gulfs between you and highborn dames!
You are the soul of freedom
And the dames languish in
When you entered the garden - O what coy grace!
What did the flowers whisper
You've robbed the bulbuls
of their speech.
You wear no jewels, but your lovely skin
Sparkles with millions of
Glory to the jeweler who wrought
Your hair, innocent of purchased scents,
Frames a face whence flows
such heady wine
As for its hue and power has
O those gushing springs of bashfulness!
The hounes envy your grace,
You're framed in virtue, strong-soured
I saw you working in the field,
Singing a love song, your
sleeves rolled up, -
O what rough work for those
O the loveliness of those sweat-soaked arched
How many are the hearts that
it has slain!
O urn full of wine bewares
your own drink!
Flower among fairies; let not the primrose
path tempt you
May you escape the deadly
embrace of sloth?
And the wayward doom of unbridled
Mahjoor, how sweet are your songs!
They have a depth of meaning
for the knowing soul
Who don't dismiss them as
a fabric of words?