Chapter 2
How can I traffic in Love's busy mart? Thou hast won from me more than stores of gold; That I may bargain, give me back the heart Thy cruel fingers hold.
O heart desirous, in Love's perilous way Thy journey take and in his paths abide, And thou mayst find perchance, lest thou should stray, Awaiting thee, a guide.
DAGH.
XIV.
O Weaver of Excuses, what to thee Are all the promises that thou hast made, The truth derided, and the faith betrayed, And all thy perfidy?
Sometimes thou sayest--Come at eventide: And when the evening falls, thou sayest--Dawn Was when I called thee. Even when night is gone I wait unsatisfied.
When in thy haughty ear they did commend Me as the faithfullest of all thy train, Thou saidst--I hold such lovers in disdain, I scoff at such a friend.
O Mischief-maker, passing-on thy way So lovely is thy mien, all creatures must Cry out--It is debarred to things of dust To walk so winningly.
Why shouldst thou keep from tyranny anew? Why shouldst thou not betray another one? What matter if he die? Thou hast but done What thou wast born to do.
Who cares not for his heart nor for his creed Is the idolater. His worthless name Is Dagh. O Fair Ones, look upon his shame! He is disgraced indeed.
DAGH.
XV.
Thy love permits not my complaint to rise, It reaches to my lips, and then it dies. Now, helpless heart, I cannot aid thee more, And thus for thee God's pity must implore.
Seest thou not how much disgrace and pain The scornful world has heaped upon us twain, On thee for beauty and the sins thereof, On me for this infirmity of love.
Oft-times she will not speak to me at all, Or if she deign to speak, the words that fall Cold from her haughty lips are words of blame: --I know thee not--I have not heard thy name!
Deep in my memory was graved the trace Of all I suffered since I saw thy face; But now, Beloved, thou hast come to me, I have erased the record utterly.
With empty hands all mortal men are whirled Through Death's grim gate into the other world: This is my pride that it is granted me To carry with me my desire for thee.
They say when I complain of all I bore --It is thy kismet, what would'st thou have more? My rivals also bear thy tyranny, Saying--It is her custom and must be!
DAGH.
XVI.
I met you and the pain of separation was forgot, And all I should have kept in mind my heart remembered not.
What cruelty and scorn I in your bitter letters knew! No love was there; O Gracious One, have you forgotten too?
Strange is the journey that my soul by wanton Love was led, Two steps were straight and clear, and four forgotten were instead.
There was some blundering o'er my fate at the Great Reckoning; You have forgot, O Keeper of the Record, many a thing.
You took my heart, but left my life behind: O see you not What thing you have remembered, and what thing you have forgot?
To meet Annihilation's sword is the most happy lot That man can gain, for all the joys of earth has he forgot.
A Muslim on the path of Love beside a Kafir trod, And one forgot the Kaaba, one the Temple of his God.
DAGH.
XVII.
What happiness is to the lover left Of peace bereft, What freedom for his captive heart remains Held in her chains?
Sometimes unto the mountain peaks he goes Driven by his woes, Sometimes within the barren wilderness Hides his distress.
Curses on Love, and may his home disgraced Be laid in waste! To me the world and all the joys I sought Are less than naught.
Gladly, O Executioner, to Death I yield my breath; And only wonder who shall after me Thy victim be!
FIGHAN.
XVIII.
If you should meet the Loved One as you stray, O give my letter secretly to her, Then haste away And do not tell my name, O Messenger.
O Morning Winds that from the garden blow, Should you meet one like me forlorn and sad, On him bestow The peace and solace I have never had.
O Eyes that weep and weep unsatisfied, That shed such floods, yet never find relief, O stem your tide Lest you should drown the world in seas of grief.
She need not have one anxious doubt of me, She need not fear my further wanderings-- How can I flee? How can a bird escape, deprived of wings?
FIGHAN.
XIX.
How difficult is the thorny way of strife That man hath stumbled in since time began, And in the tangled business of this life How difficult to play the part of man.
When She decrees there should exist no more My humble cottage, through its broken walls, And cruelly drifting in the open door, The frozen rain of desolation falls.
O mad Desire, why dost thou flame and burn And bear my Soul further and further yet To the Beloved; then, why dost thou turn To bitter disappointment and regret?
Such light there gleams from the Beloved's face That every eye becomes her worshipper, And every mirror, looking on her grace, Desires to be the frame enclosing her.
Unhappy lovers, slaves of cruel chance, In this grim place of slaughter strange indeed Your joy to see unveiled her haughty glance That flashes like the scimitar of Ede.
When I had hardly drawn my latest breath, Pardon she asked for killing me. Alas, How soon repentance followed on my death, How quick her unavailing sorrow was!
GHALIB.
XX.
I grant you will not utterly forget, I hold you not unheeding and unjust, But ere you hear my prayer I shall be dead and turned to senseless dust.
How little can one eager sigh attain To touch thine icy heart to tenderness! Who can live long enough To win the beauty of thy curling tress?
GHALIB.
XXI.
The high ambition of the drop of rain Is to be merged in the unfettered sea; My sorrow when it passed all bounds of pain, Changing, became itself the remedy.
Behold how great is my humility! Under your cruel yoke I suffered sore; Now I no longer feel thy tyranny I hunger for the pain that then I bore.
Why did the fragrance of the flowers outflow If not to breathe with benediction sweet Across her path? Why did the soft wind blow If not to kiss the ground before her feet?
GHALIB.
XXII.
I had a thousand desires, for each of them I would have died, And what did I gain? So many indeed are fulfilled, but how many beside Insatiate remain!
We have known of the tale of how Adam to exile was driven; More shameful in truth Is my fate to be cast from the garden more favoured than Heaven Where she walks in her youth.
That living and dying in love are but one I have proved, This only know I That I live by the sight of the beauty of her the Beloved For whom I would die.
GHALIB.
XXIII.
How long will she thus stand unveiled before me, Shrinking and shy in maidenly distress, How long, my dazzled eyes, can ye contemplate Her blinding loveliness!
No rest is for my heart by love tormented, It cannot even win the peace of death; How long shall it endure with resignation The pain it suffereth!
Like shifting shadows come the great and mighty, And live their splendid day, and hurry past; And who can tell how long the changing pageant Of fleeting life shall last!
O look on me, unhappy Asif, driven As dust before the wind across the street; How long has Love ordained that I should suffer Beneath the passing feet.
GHALIB.
XXIV.
THE WIDOW.
I call on Death, for Life is my distress, And I myself a load of weariness Weighing upon myself. Helpless am I; Dared I to weep, then never would run dry The fountains of my grief: I cannot speak: Even the occupation that I seek Goads me and wearies me. A jungle drear This world and all its moving crowds appear, And I the loneliest of all things on Earth, Yea, lonely in the household of my birth. Tired am I of my suffering through the years, Even as mine eyes are wearied of their tears. Spring comes again and brings the cooling breeze, And Autumn with the rain among the trees, Fair Summer with its moonlit nights of gold, And Winter with its sweet and gentle cold; These come and go, with morn and even-fall, How can I tell how I have passed them all? Well, I have borne them all!
Hope gleamed awhile, but fled unsatisfied, The flower sprang up, but drooped and fruitless died: The silver bow of Ede shone above all, But never came the looked-for Festival: I saw the splendour of the season wane, Never the benediction of the rain Fell on my parched heart: the thunder loud Pealed from the bosom of the darkened cloud, But never came the long-desired rain: I sought the fruit upon the tree in vain, The thorn smote deep into my heart instead: Across the desert wastes of sands I sped Seeing the silver watercourses gleam, But it was all a vision and a dream, And thirsting in the desert I was left Lone and bereft.
HALI.
XXV.
Like silver torrents flow thy words to me, But ah--I have no voice to answer thee.
My heart thy words have burnt with whips of fire, Do they not burn thy lips, O Heart's Desire?
Thy promises are broken every day, Yet--See my faithfulness!--I hear you say.
Candle-like wastes my body all these days My flame-like tongue endures to sing thy praise.
O Hasan, I have spoke and sighed and sung, Yet never from my heart my tale was wrung, My secret grief can never find a tongue.
HASAN.
XXVI.
I cannot rise to follow her, Here in the dust is my abode, For I am but her foot-print left Lying forgotten in the road.
Where are repose and patience gone? Where is my honour, held so fair? All these are naught to me--I dwell In the black chambers of Despair!
INSHA.
XXVII.
How can I win that Hidden One Who sits within the secret place? For even in my very dreams She wears the veil upon her face.
What heart is there in all the world Can bear thy cruel tyranny? Keep then this broken heart of mine That thus thou mayst remember me!
JURAT.
XXVIII.
What kind of comforter art thou to me? What help and solace in calamity? No wound is there upon my bruised heart But thou hast touched to make it sting and smart!
But yet, Beloved One, I ask in pain When is the hour when thou wilt come again? My soul cries out to thee in bitter need --When wilt thou come--or wilt thou come indeed?
O Saki, do not pass my goblet by, Although the feast is spread its lip is dry. Be careful, O my tears, lest you should tell The world my secret that you know too well.
O Sorrow, in thy tangled paths I go, The Kaaba's gateway I no longer know, But bend my head wherever I see rise The arch that curves o'er the Beloved's eyes.
MIR.
XXIX.
To whom shall I relate The weary story of my sorrowful love? O Friend, this is my fate, This is the record of the pain thereof.
I prayed in vain to her; She said--You weary me, I hear thy prayer, It is thy messenger, But when it pleads with me I do not care.
I said--Never again Canst thou forget my faithfulness to thee; She answered in disdain --What mean thy love and faithfulness to me?
Life called to me Telling me earth is full of hope and bliss, Now undeceived I see How foolish I to seek a world like this.
MIR SOZ.
XXX.
Even in the Kaaba courts my heart was moved, Brooding upon the idol that I loved, Mourning its loss. Now like a bird am I, That painted in a picture cannot fly Nor move nor sing; my heart is so outworn With all the lingering sorrow I have borne. Within my heart thy presence I have felt, Within mine eyes, Beloved, thou hast dwelt For long long days. Who taught thee for a shrine To choose a heart so desolate as mine? Long time I told my friends my bitter grief, And in the telling sought to find relief; In silence now instead I take my rest, And find that peace and loneliness are best.
MIR TAQI.
XXXI.
Wherever the Beloved looks she stirs Trouble and longing sore and eager breath And deep desire in all her worshippers, And some for her have drunk the cup of Death.
O Night of Separation, darkest night Of deepest grief, thy cruelty shall cease; To-morrow I shall greet the dawning light Within the city of Eternal Peace.
O threatening Whirlwind rolling on thy way, I shall unloose thy knot, if thou but dare With angry gusts to toss and disarray A single curl of the Beloved's hair.
Sometimes her beauty goads and maddens me, I cannot bear her cruel loveliness, But turn her mirror that she may not see; Why should I let her double my distress?
Hearken, O Momin, all thy life is done! In idol-worship at the Temple thou Hast spent thy days, and thus thy years have run: How canst thou call thyself a Muslim now?
MOMIN.
XXXII.
I, like a wandering bubble, Am blown here and there Shifting and changing and fashioned Of water and air.
Thou turnest thy face, O Beloved, I cannot tell why, Art thou shy of a mirror, Beloved? Thy mirror am I!
When over her face she unloosened The dusk of her hair, What need had the world of the cloud-wreaths, They fled in despair.
MUSHAFI.
XXXIII.
No man hath ever passed Into the Country of Eternal Rest With every longing stilled. Who hath not lingering cast Long looks behind, and in his eager breast Held many a secret yearning unfulfilled?
Ah, Mushafi, to thee Silence and thought in solitude are best, For thou hast known That laurel crowns are idle vanity; There is no worldly rank thou covetest, And what to thee is Suleiman's high throne?
MUSHAFI.
XXXIV.
Where has my childhood gone, where are its placid years? For cruel youth hath brought passion and bitter tears.
To the Creator now I from the dust complain-- Beauty, the thing he made, brings with it only pain.
Long I desired and dreamed, waiting with eager breath, But ere she came to me, Fate sent the sleep of Death.
To God as servitor I my devotion gave, Now Love hath taken me, bound me to be his slave.
I, Muztar, die with grief, yearning unsatisfied, Still hangs the purdah's fold I cannot draw aside, Nor lift the needless veil woven of shame and pride.
MUZTAR.
XXXV.
The fire of love I for my idol know Within my bosom hides, As in the mountain 'neath its crust of snow The flame abides.
Long have I yearned in vain to kiss her feet, I lay my weary head Down in the dust, that thus my lips may greet Where she may tread.
No wealth have I, but like the moth I live: Since love demands a price, I, like the moth, have but my life to give In sacrifice.
How has my bird-like soul been stricken low, Pierced to the very heart! My love has used instead of bolt and bow A deadlier dart.
NASIKH.
XXXVI.
The wound upon my heart glows bright and clear With such a steady and unwavering light That in the darkness I shall have no fear And need no lamp to guide my steps aright.
When of the darkness of the grave I hear, The night of death, and all the pangs thereof, I reck not, for one thing alone I fear-- The night of separation from my Love.
NASIKH.
XXXVII.
Shall I or shall I not console my heart And win relief? Or shall I sit in solitude apart Nursing my grief?
O hear, while of my life now nearly done Some sparks remain! Soon I may be, who knows, O Cruel One, Speechless with pain.
How can I to the fisher speak my thought? Her snares are set, My fish-like heart is by her lashes caught, As in a net.
Look on my sorrowful mien, O Love, and tell My hopelessness, None of the manifold troubles that befell Can I express.
Fair is the garden, Sauda, to thy view, More fair appears Her dwelling; let me all its ways bedew With happy tears.
SAUDA.
XXXVIII.
I am no singer rapt in ecstasy, Nor yet a sighing listener am I, I am the nightingale that used to sing In joy, but now am mute, remembering.
I know the drop within the ocean hides, But know not in what place my soul abides: I cannot read the hidden mystery-- Whence came I, whither go I, what am I.
My friends have paid due reverence at my grave, And held my dust as sacred, for I gave My humble life to the Beloved's sword, Killed by her beauty, martyred by her word.
I deemed life was tranquillity and rest, I find it but a never-ending quest; And I, who sat in quietude and peace, Toil on a journey that shall never cease.
SHAMSHAD.
XXXIX.
Repent not, for repentance is in vain, And what is done is done; What shouldst thou reck of me and all my pain? For what is done is done.
They said to her--Behold him, he is dead! How did he lose his life, unhappy one? --O bury him deep in the grave, she said, For what is done is done.
This is the pain of love that I have caught, And what is done is done; A thousand remedies avail me naught, And what is done is done.
For love I gave the honour of my name, And Good and Evil are to me as one; Let all the world chastise me with its blame, For what is done is done.
The dust of Taban we could find no more, But yet nor rest nor respite hath he won; His breath, his soul, floats round thee as before, And--what is done is done.
TABAN.
XL.
O Lovely One, when to the ravished sight Thou wilt unveil that radiant face of thine, Each atom of the worlds, catching thy light, Reflecting thee, bright as a sun shall shine.
Walk not, my flower, within the garden close, Lest thou should give the bulbul new distress; For at thy glance each blossom turns a rose To lure him with her cruel loveliness.
Victorious One, thou hast unsheathed thy sword, The scimitar of thy beauty gleams again, So over all thy lovers thou art Lord, Holding dominion in the hearts of men.
Art thou serene and calm and unafraid When thou considerest thy tyranny? Think of the reckoning that shall be made Between thy heart and mine at Judgment Day.
WALI.
XLI.
O ask not frigid Piety to dwell In the same house with Youth and warm Desire; It were as idle as if one should tell Water to be a comrade of the Fire.
O say not only that the Loved One left My lonely heart, and fled beyond recall; But I of rest and patience am bereft, And losing Her I am deprived of all.
Take heed, O Hunter, though within thy net Thou hold this bird, my soul, with many bands, I struggle sore, for Freedom lures me yet, And may escape from out thy cruel hands.
YAKRANG.
XLII.
Thou shouldst have given to me the robe and crown And made me king of kings, Or dressed me in the tattered darwesh gown, Poorest of earthly things.
O that I were thy fool to do thy will, Simple and led by thee! What meaning have my knowledge and my skill, They have no worth to me.
Lo, thou hast made me as the dust that flies Unheeded in the street, O were I that which in her pathway lies, Trodden beneath her feet!
My heart is as it were to fringes shred, Such wounds it had to bear; Would that it were the comb, to touch her head, To tend her perfumed hair!
Long have I known that it was thy design To burn my soul outright; O may at least the happy fate be mine To be the Tavern light!
ZAFAR.
XLIII.
Mine eyes were shut And yet I saw the shining vision gleam; Now that mine eyes are opened, know I not Was it a thought that held me--or a dream?
Long to myself I said--It will be well, When I can see her, I will tell my pain: Now she is here, what is there left to tell? No griefs remain.
Faithless she is to me, and pitiless, Despotic and tyrannical she is, I looked for love, I looked for tenderness, I leant on vain impossibilities.
I listened to thy voice that stole to me Across the curtain where thou satst apart, Desire came like a restless ecstasy, A sorcery that fell upon my heart.
When I had burst my prison, and was free, I saw no fetters held me, and I found, O Zafar, that these chains that shackle me Are ties of self wherewith my soul is bound.
ZAFAR.
XLIV.
I care not if no rest nor peace remain, I have my cherished pain, I have my rankling love that knows no end, And need no other friend. I yearned with all my heart to hold her fast, She laughed, and fled, and passed! Lakhs of enchantments, scores of spells I wove, But useless was my love. I would have given my life to make her stay, She went away, away, she went away. Though I effaced myself in deed and thought And brought myself to naught, The dark and sundering curtain hangs between I cannot pierce the screen. And still I know behind the veil she hides, And naught besides In all this changing Universe abides!
ZAFAR.
XLV.
That I should find her after weary years, And that mine eyes should keep from happy tears,-- That is not possible, this is not possible.
If she should come after these many days, And if my wondering eyes forget to gaze-- That is not possible, this is not possible.
Sometimes I long to kiss my idol's face, Sometimes to clasp her in my wild embrace-- That is not possible, this is not possible.
How can I let her seek my rival's door, How can I bear the friends I loved before-- That is not possible, this is not possible.
O Zafar, does she bid me to return, And dare I, for I tremble and I burn-- That is not possible, this is not possible.
ZAFAR.
XLVI.
Whence did the yearning of the soul arise, The longing to attain the Heavenly Sight? Before what mortal eyes Was manifested the Eternal Light?
When the soul understands and wakes to find Thou hast within the heart of man Thy throne, It sees how arrogant and blind The self that but its mortal self hath known.
Thou and I also were the seer and seen, When none beside existed. Thou and I Have Lover and Beloved been Before this era of mortality.
How strange the turns in Love's unending game, For neither Lover nor Beloved lit The ever-burning flame: Whence was the spirit that enkindled it?
The road that leads where pious pilgrims bow In Kaaba or in Temple, Thou hast laid; And first of all wert Thou To tread the road that thou Thyself hadst made.
ZAHIR.
XLVII.
Thy beauty flashes like a sword Serene and keen and merciless; But great as is thy cruelty, Even greater is thy loveliness.
It is the gift of God to thee This beauty rare and exquisite; Why dost thou hide it thus from me, I shall not steal nor sully it.
And as thy beauty shines, in Heaven There climbs upon its path of fire The star that lights my rival's way, And with it mounts his heart's desire.
Even in thy house is jealousy, Thy youth demands the lover's praise Over thy beauty, which itself Is jealous of thy gracious ways.
I died with joy when winningly I heard the Well-Beloved call-- Zahir, where is my beauty gone, Thou must have robbed me after all.
ZAHIR.
XLVIII.
O Tyrannous One, when from my heart was drawn The fatal arrow, like a scarlet flood My life gushed forth; but yet the one word Hope Was written in my blood.
Why should the Cosmos turn its wheel of worlds If not to search for thee eternally? Why should the tireless Sun arise each morn If not to look for thee?
Alas my fate! before you came to me Already had I felt the touch of Death, Nor was I spared before thy worshipped feet To offer up my breath.
For long, throughout the world, I sought for thee, Through weary years and ages of unrest; At last I found thee hidden in my arms Within my breast!
ZAUQ.
FRAGMENTS.
Each morn I see the Sun in majesty Come back to shine thy rival as before, But O what ages has it taken thee To come to me--if thou wilt come--once more!
ARZU.
Through Love did I the joy of life attain, And walking in the way that He hath led I found the remedy to heal all pain; Why therefore is my pain unremedied?
GHALIB.
O burnish well the mirror of thy heart And make it fair, If thou desire the image of thy Love To shine reflected there.
HATIM.
No fault is thine, Beloved, I do not blame thee, Nor do I blame my rivals for their part, I know my trouble causeless, yet I hearken To my unreasonable, doubting heart.
MAZHAR.