Chapter 2

He spoke in whispers; his furtive glance Probing the depths of the garden shade. The man came closer, with eyes askance, The child beside them shivered, afraid.

A cold wind drifted about the three, Jarring the spines with a hungry sound, The spines that grew on the snakelike tree And guarded its roots beneath the ground.

.....

After the fall of the summer rain The plant was glorious, redly gay, Blood-red with blossom. Never again Men saw the child in the Temple play.

Request

Give me your self one hour; I do not crave For any love, or even thought, of me. Come, as a Sultan may caress a slave And then forget for ever, utterly.

Come! as west winds, that passing, cool and wet, O'er desert places, leave them fields in flower And all my life, for I shall not forget, Will keep the fragrance of that perfect hour!

Story of Udaipore:

Told by Lalla-ji, the Priest

"And when the Summer Heat is great, And every hour intense, The Moghra, with its subtle flowers, Intoxicates the sense."

The Coco palms stood tall and slim, against the golden-glow, And all their grey and graceful plumes were waving to and fro.

She lay forgetful in the boat, and watched the dying Sun Sink slowly lakewards, while the stars replaced him, one by one.

She saw the marble Temple walls long white reflections make, The echoes of their silvery bells were blown across the lake.

The evening air was very sweet; from off the island bowers Came scents of Moghra trees in bloom, and Oleander flowers.

"The Moghra flowers that smell so sweet When love's young fancies play; The acrid Moghra flowers, still sweet Though love be burnt away."

The boat went drifting, uncontrolled, the rower rowed no more, But deftly turned the slender prow towards the further shore.

The dying sunset touched with gold the Jasmin in his hair; His eyes were darkly luminous: she looked and found him fair.

And so persuasively he spoke, she could not say him nay, And when his young hands took her own, she smiled and let them stay.

And all the youth awake in him, all love of Love in her, All scents of white and subtle flowers that filled the twilight air

Combined together with the night in kind conspiracy To do Love service, while the boat went drifting onwards, free.

"The Moghra flowers, the Moghra flowers, While Youth's quick pulses play They are so sweet, they still are sweet, Though passion burns away."

Low in the boat the lovers lay, and from his sable curls The Jasmin flowers slipped away to rest among the girl's.

Oh, silver lake and silver night and tender silver sky! Where as the hours passed, the moon rose white and cold on high.

"The Moghra flowers, the Moghra flowers, So dear to Youth at play; The small and subtle Moghra flowers That only last a day."

Suddenly, frightened, she awoke, and waking vaguely saw The boat had stranded in the sedge that fringed the further shore.

The breeze grown chilly, swayed the palms; she heard, still half awake, A prowling jackal's hungry cry blown faintly o'er the lake.

She shivered, but she turned to kiss his soft, remembered face, Lit by the pallid light he lay, in Youth's abandoned grace.

But as her lips met his she paused, in terror and dismay, The white moon showed her by her side asleep a Leper lay.

"Ah, Moghra flowers, white Moghra flowers, All love is blind, they say; The Moghra flowers, so sweet, so sweet, Though love be burnt away!"

Valgovind's Song in the Spring

The Temple bells are ringing, The young green corn is springing, And the marriage month is drawing very near.

I lie hidden in the grass, And I count the moments pass, For the month of marriages is drawing near.

Soon, ah, soon, the women spread The appointed bridal bed With hibiscus buds and crimson marriage flowers,

Where, when all the songs are done, And the dear dark night begun, I shall hold her in my happy arms for hours.

She is young and very sweet, From the silver on her feet To the silver and the flowers in her hair, And her beauty makes me swoon, As the Moghra trees at noon Intoxicate the hot and quivering air.

Ah, I would the hours were fleet As her silver circled feet, I am weary of the daytime and the night; I am weary unto death, Oh my rose with jasmin breath, With this longing for your beauty and your light.

Youth

I am not sure if I knew the truth What his case or crime might be, I only know that he pleaded Youth, A beautiful, golden plea!

Youth, with its sunlit, passionate eyes, Its roseate velvet skin-- A plea to cancel a thousand lies, Or a thousand nights of sin.

The men who judged him were old and grey Their eyes and their senses dim, He brought the light of a warm Spring day To the Court-house bare and grim.

Could he plead guilty in a lovelier way? His judges acquitted him.

When Love is Over

Song of Khan Zada

Only in August my heart was aflame, Catching the scent of your Wind-stirred hair, Now, though you spread it to soften my sleep Through the night, I should hardly care.

Only last August I drank that water Because it had chanced to cool your hands; When love is over, how little of love Even the lover understands!

"Golden Eyes"

Oh Amber Eyes, oh Golden Eyes! Oh Eyes so softly gay! Wherein swift fancies fall and rise, Grow dark and fade away. Eyes like a little limpid pool That holds a sunset sky, While on its surface, calm and cool, Blue water lilies lie.

Oh Tender Eyes, oh Wistful Eyes, You smiled on me one day, And all my life, in glad surprise, Leapt up and pleaded "Stay!" Alas, oh cruel, starlike eyes, So grave and yet so gay, You went to lighten other skies, Smiled once and passed away.

Oh, you whom I name "Golden Eyes," Perhaps I used to know Your beauty under other skies In lives lived long ago. Perhaps I rowed with galley slaves, Whose labour never ceased, To bring across Phoenician waves Your treasure from the East.

Maybe you were an Emperor then And I a favourite slave; Some youth, whom from the lions' den You vainly tried to save! Maybe I reigned, a mighty King, The early nations knew, And you were some slight captive thing, Some maiden whom I slew.

Perhaps, adrift on desert shores Beside some shipwrecked prow, I gladly gave my life for yours. Would I might give it now! Or on some sacrificial stone Strange Gods we satisfied, Perhaps you stooped and left a throne To kiss me ere I died.

Perhaps, still further back than this, In times ere men were men, You granted me a moment's bliss In some dark desert den, When, with your amber eyes alight With iridescent flame, And fierce desire for love's delight, Towards my lair you came

Ah laughing, ever-brilliant eyes, These things men may not know, But something in your radiance lies, That, centuries ago, Lit up my life in one wild blaze Of infinite desire To revel in your golden rays, Or in your light expire.

If this, oh Strange Ringed Eyes, be true, That through all changing lives This longing love I have for you Eternally survives, May I not sometimes dare to dream In some far time to be Your softly golden eyes may gleam Responsively on me?

Ah gentle, subtly changing eyes, You smiled on me one day, And all my life in glad surprise Leaped up, imploring "Stay!" Alas, alas, oh Golden Eyes, So cruel and so gay, You went to shine in other skies, Smiled once and passed away.

Kotri, by the River

At Kotri, by the river, when the evening's sun is low, The waving palm trees quiver, the golden waters glow, The shining ripples shiver, descending to the sea; At Kotri, by the river, she used to wait for me.

So young, she was, and slender, so pale with wistful eyes As luminous and tender as Kotri's twilight skies. Her face broke into flowers, red flowers at the mouth, Her voice,--she sang for hours like bulbuls in the south.

We sat beside the water through burning summer days, And many things I taught her of Life and all its ways Of Love, man's loveliest duty, of Passion's reckless pain, Of Youth, whose transient beauty comes once, but not again.

She lay and laughed and listened beside the water's edge. The glancing river glistened and glinted through the sedge. Green parrots flew above her and, as the daylight died, Her young arms drew her lover more closely to her side.

Oh days so warm and golden! oh nights so cool and still! When Love would not be holden, and Pleasure had his will. Days, when in after leisure, content to rest we lay, Nights, when her lips' soft pressure drained all my life away.

And while we sat together, beneath the Babul trees, The fragrant, sultry weather cooled by the river breeze, If passion faltered ever, and left the senses free, We heard the tireless river decending to the sea.

I know not where she wandered, or went in after days, Or if her youth she squandered in Love's more doubtful ways. Perhaps, beside the river, she died, still young and fair; Perchance the grasses quiver above her slumber there.

At Kotri, by the river, maybe I too shall sleep The sleep that lasts for ever, too deep for dreams; too deep. Maybe among the shingle and sand of floods to be Her dust and mine may mingle and float away to sea.

Ah Kotri, by the river, when evening's sun is low, Your faint reflections quiver, your golden ripples glow. You knew, oh Kotri river, that love which could not last. For me your palms still shiver with passions of the past.

Farewell

Farewell, Aziz, it was not mine to fold you Against my heart for any length of days. I had no loveliness, alas, to hold you, No siren voice, no charm that lovers praise.

Yet, in the midst of grief and desolation, Solace I my despairing soul with this: Once, for my life's eternal consolation, You lent my lips your loveliness to kiss.

Ah, that one night! I think Love's very essence Distilled itself from out my joy and pain, Like tropical trees, whose fervid inflorescence Glows, gleams, and dies, never to bloom again.

Often I marvel how I met the morning With living eyes after that night with you, Ah, how I cursed the wan, white light for dawning, And mourned the paling stars, as each withdrew!

Yet I, even I, who am less than dust before you, Less than the lowest lintel of your door, Was given one breathless midnight, to adore you. Fate, having granted this, can give no more!

Afridi Love

Since, Oh, Beloved, you are not even faithful To me, who loved you so, for one short night, For one brief space of darkness, though my absence Did but endure until the dawning light;

Since all your beauty--which was _mine_--you squandered On _that_ which now lies dead across your door; See here this knife, made keen and bright to kill you. You shall not see the sun rise any more.

Lie still! Lie still! In all the empty village Who is there left to hear or heed your cry? All are gone to labour in the valley, Who will return before your time to die?

No use to struggle; when I found you sleeping, I took your hands and bound them to your side, And both these slender feet, too apt at straying, Down to the cot on which you lie are tied.

Lie still, Beloved; that dead thing lying yonder, I hated and I killed, but love is sweet, And you are more than sweet to me, who love you, Who decked my eyes with dust from off your feet.

Give me your lips; Ah, lovely and disloyal Give me yourself again; before you go Down through the darkness of the Great, Blind Portal, All of life's best and basest you must know.

Erstwhile Beloved, you were so young and fragile I held you gently, as one holds a flower: But now, God knows, what use to still be tender To one whose life is done within an hour?

I hurt? What then? Death will not hurt you, dearest, As you hurt me, for just a single night, You call me cruel, who laid my life in ruins To gain one little moment of delight.

Look up, look out, across the open doorway The sunlight streams. The distant hills are blue. Look at the pale, pink peach trees in our garden, Sweet fruit will come of them;--but not for you.

The fair, far snow, upon those jagged mountains That gnaw against the hard blue Afghan sky Will soon descend, set free by summer sunshine. You will not see those torrents sweeping by.

The world is not for you. From this day forward, You must lie still alone; who would not lie Alone for one night only, though returning I was, when earliest dawn should break the sky.

There lies my lute, and many strings are broken, Some one was playing it, and some one tore The silken tassels round my Hookah woven; Some one who plays, and smokes, and loves, no more!

Some one who took last night his fill of pleasure, As I took mine at dawn! The knife went home Straight through his heart! God only knows my rapture Bathing my chill hands in the warm red foam.

And so I pain you? This is only loving, Wait till I kill you! Ah, this soft, curled hair! Surely the fault was mine, to love and leave you Even a single night, you are so fair.

Cold steel is very cooling to the fervour Of over passionate ones, Beloved, like you. Nay, turn your lips to mine. Not quite unlovely They are as yet, as yet, though quite untrue.

What will your brother say, to-night returning With laden camels homewards to the hills, Finding you dead, and me asleep beside you, Will he awake me first before he kills?

For I shall sleep. Here on the cot beside you When you, my Heart's Delight, are cold in death. When your young heart and restless lips are silent, Grown chilly, even beneath my burning breath.

When I have slowly drawn my knife across you, Taking my pleasure as I see you swoon, I shall sleep sound, worn out by love's last fervour, And then, God grant your kinsmen kill me soon!

Yasmini

At night, when Passion's ebbing tide Left bare the Sands of Truth, Yasmini, resting by my side, Spoke softly of her youth.

"And one" she said "was tall and slim, Two crimson rose leaves made his mouth, And I was fain to follow him Down to his village in the South.

"He was to build a hut hard by The stream where palms were growing, We were to live, and love, and lie, And watch the water flowing.

"Ah, dear, delusive, distant shore, By dreams of futile fancy gilt! The riverside we never saw, The palm leaf hut was never built!

"One had a Tope of Mangoe trees, Where early morning, noon and late, The Persian wheels, with patient ease, Brought up their liquid, silver freight.

"And he was fain to rise and reach That garden sloping to the sea, Whose groves along the wave-swept beach Should shelter him and love and me.

"Doubtless, upon that western shore With ripe fruit falling to the ground, There dwells the Peace he hungered for, The lovely Peace we never found.

"Then there came one with eager eyes And keen sword, ready for the fray. He missed the storms of Northern skies, The reckless raid and skirmish gay!

"He rose from dreams of war's alarms, To make his daggers keen and bright, Desiring, in my very arms, The fiercer rapture of the fight!

"He left me soon; too soon, and sought The stronger, earlier love again. News reached me from the Cabul Court, Afterwards nothing; doubtless slain.

"Doubtless his brilliant, haggard eyes, Long since took leave of life and light, And those lithe limbs I used to prize Feasted the jackal and the kite.

"But the most loved! his sixteen years Shone in his cheeks' transparent red. My kisses were his first: my tears Fell on his face when he was dead.

"He died, he died, I speak the truth, Though light love leave his memory dim, He was the Lover of my Youth And all my youth went down with him.

"For passion ebbs and passion flows, But under every new caress The riven heart more keenly knows Its own inviolate faithfulness.

"Our Gods are kind and still deem fit As in old days, with those to lie, Whose silent hearths are yet unlit By the soft light of infancy.

"Therefore, one strange, mysterious night Alone within the Temple shade, Recipient of a God's delight I lay enraptured, unafraid.

"Also to me the boon was given, But mourning quickly followed mirth, My son, whose father stooped from Heaven, Died in the moment of his birth.

"When from the war beyond the seas The reckless Lancers home returned, Their spoils were laid across my knees About my lips their kisses burned.

"Back from the Comradeship of Death, Free from the Friendship of the Sword, With brilliant eyes and famished breath They came to me for their reward.

"Why do I tell you all these things, Baring my life to you, unsought? When Passion folds his wearied wings Sleep should be follower, never Thought.

"Ay, let us sleep. The window pane Grows pale against the purple sky. The dawn is with us once again, The dawn; which always means good-bye."

Within her little trellised room, beside the palm-fringed sea, She wakeful in the scented gloom, spoke of her youth to me.

Ojira, to Her Lover

I am waiting in the desert, looking out towards the sunset, And counting every moment till we meet. I am waiting by the marshes and I tremble and I listen Till the soft sands thrill beneath your coming feet.

Till I see you, tall and slender, standing clear against the skyline A graceful shade across the lingering red, While your hair the breezes ruffle, turns to silver in the twilight, And makes a fair faint aureole round your head.

Far away towards the sunset I can see a narrow river, That unwinds itself in red tranquillity; I can hear its rippled meeting, and the gurgle of its greeting, As it mingles with the loved and long sought sea.

In the purple sky above me showing dark against the starlight, Long wavering flights of homeward birds fly low, They cry each one to the other, and their weird and wistful calling, Makes most melancholy music as they go.

Oh, my dearest hasten, hasten! It is lonely here. Already Have I heard the jackals' first assembling cry, And among the purple shadows of the mangroves and the marshes Fitful echoes of their footfalls passing by.

Ah, come soon! my arms are empty, and so weary for your beauty, I am thirsty for the music of your voice. Come to make the marshes joyous with the sweetness of your presence, Let your nearing feet bid all the sands rejoice!

My hands, my lips are feverish with the longing and the waiting And no softness of the twilight soothes their heat, Till I see your radiant eyes, shining stars beneath the starlight, Till I kiss the slender coolness of your feet.

Ah, loveliest, most reluctant, when you lay yourself beside me All the planets reel around me--fade away, And the sands grow dim, uncertain,--I stretch out my hands towards you While I try to speak but know not what I say!

I am faint with love and longing, and my burning eyes are gazing Where the furtive Jackals wage their famished strife, Oh, your shadow on the mangroves! and your step upon the sandhills,-- This is the loveliest evening of my Life!

Thoughts: Mahomed Akram

If some day this body of mine were burned (It found no favour alas! with you) And the ashes scattered abroad, unurned, Would Love die also, would Thought die too? But who can answer, or who can trust, No dreams would harry the windblown dust?

Were I laid away in the furrows deep Secure from jackal and passing plough, Would your eyes not follow me still through sleep Torment me then as they torture now? Would you ever have loved me, Golden Eyes, Had I done aught better or otherwise?

Was I overspeechful, or did you yearn When I sat silent, for songs or speech? Ah, Beloved, I had been so apt to learn, So apt, had you only cared to teach. But time for silence and song is done, You wanted nothing, my Golden Sun!

What should you want of a waning star? That drifts in its lonely orbit far Away from your soft, effulgent light In outer planes of Eternal night?

Prayer

You are all that is lovely and light, Aziza whom I adore, And, waking, after the night, I am weary with dreams of you. Every nerve in my heart is tense and sore As I rise to another morning apart from you.

I dream of your luminous eyes, Aziza whom I adore! Of the ruffled silk of your hair, I dream, and the dreams are lies. But I love them, knowing no more Will ever be mine of you Aziza, my life's despair.

I would burn for a thousand days, Aziza whom I adore, Be tortured, slain, in unheard of ways If you pitied the pain I bore. You pity! Your bright eyes, fastened on other things, Are keener to sting my soul, than scorpion stings!

You are all that is lovely to me, All that is light, One white rose in a Desert of weariness. I only live in the night, The night, with its fair false dreams of you, You and your loveliness.

Give me your love for a day, A night, an hour: If the wages of sin are Death I am willing to pay. What is my life but a breath Of passion burning away? Away for an unplucked flower. O Aziza whom I adore, Aziza my one delight, Only one night, I will die before day, And trouble your life no more.

The Aloe

My life was like an Aloe flower, beneath an orient sky, Your sunshine touched it for an hour; it blossomed but to die.

Torn up, cast out, on rubbish heaps where red flames work their will Each atom of the Aloe keeps the flower-time fragrance still.

Memory

How I loved you in your sleep, With the starlight on your hair!

The touch of your lips was sweet, Aziza whom I adore, I lay at your slender feet, And against their soft palms pressed, I fitted my face to rest. As winds blow over the sea From Citron gardens ashore, Came, through your scented hair, The breeze of the night to me.

My lips grew arid and dry, My nerves were tense, Though your beauty soothe the eye It maddens the sense. Every curve of that beauty is known to me, Every tint of that delicate roseleaf skin, And these are printed on every atom of me, Burnt in on every fibre until I die. And for this, my sin, I doubt if ever, though dust I be, The dust will lose the desire, The torment and hidden fire, Of my passionate love for you. Aziza whom I adore, My dust will be full of your beauty, as is the blue And infinite ocean full of the azure sky.

In the light that waxed and waned Playing about your slumber in silver bars, As the palm trees swung their feathery fronds athwart the stars, How quiet and young you were, Pale as the Champa flowers, violet veined, That, sweet and fading, lay in your loosened hair.