Hindustani Lyrics | Page 4

all kinds of poetry, and some of his ghazals continue to be popular: author of a voluminous Diwan, and a Commentary on the Gulistan of Saadi: a clever caligraphist, wrote with his own hand passages from the Koran for the ornamentation of the principal Mosque of Delhi. His son Dara was also a poet. At the Mutiny in 1857 he was taken prisoner and sent to Rangoon: there he continued to write verses, and died at an advanced age. His portrait, which forms the frontispiece to this book, is from a miniature kindly lent by the Indian Section of the Victoria and Albert Museum, South Kensington.
J.D.W.?Dulwich Village, London.?October, 1918.
I.
Thou tak'st no heed of me,?I am as naught to thee;
Cruel Beloved, arise!?Lovely and languid thou,?Sleep still upon thy brow,
Dreams in thine eyes.?From out thy garment flows?Fragrance of many a rose--
Airs of delight?Caught in the moonlit hours?Lying among the flowers
Through the long night.?Look on my face how pale!?Will naught my love avail?
Naught my desire??Hold it as gold that is?Cleansed of impurities
Tried in the fire.?Pity my heart distrest,?Caught by that loveliest
Tress of thine hair,?So that I fear the shade?Even by thine eyebrows made
O'er eyes so fair.
ABRU.
II.
Thou, Sorrow, wilt keep and wilt cherish the memory of me
Long after my death,?For thou dwelt at my heart, and my blood nourished thee,
Thou wert warmed by my breath.
My heart has disgraced me by clamour and wailing for years
And tossing in pain,?Mine eyes lost their honour by shedding these torrents of tears
Like fast-falling rain.
O Wind of Disaster, destroy not the home of my heart
With the blasts of thine ire,?For there I have kindled to burn in a chamber apart
My Lamp of Desire.
AMIR.
III.
Had I control o'er her, the dear Tormentor,
Then might I rest;?I cannot govern her, nor can I master
The heart within my breast.
I cast myself upon the ground in anguish
Wounded and sore,?Yet longed to have two hearts that she might pierce them,
That I might suffer more.
Utterly from her heart hath she erased me,
No marks remain,?So there shall be no grave from which my ashes
May greet her steps again.
O cruel One, when once your glances smote me,
Why turn your head??It were more merciful to let their arrows
Pierce me and strike me dead.
No tomb, Amir, could give my dust oblivion,
No rest was there:?And when they told her I had died of sorrow,
She did not know--nor care.
AMIR.
IV.
This Life is less than shadows; if thou yearn
To know and find the God thou worshippest,?From all the varying shows of being turn
To that true Life which is unmanifest.
Beware, O travellers, dangerous is Life's Way
With lures that call, illusion that deceives,?For set to snare the voyagers that stray
Are fortresses of robbers, lairs of thieves.
The seer's eyes look on the cup of wine
And say--We need no more thy drunkenness;?An exaltation that is more divine,
Another inspiration, we possess.
O praise not peacock youth; it flits away
And leaves us but the ashes of regret,?A disappointed heart, a memory,
An empty foolish pride that lingers yet.
Upon the path, Amir, we journey far,
Weary the road where mankind wandereth;?O tell me, does it lead through Life's bazar,
Or is it the dread gate and house of Death?
AMIR.
V.
Here can my heart no longer rest;
It tells my happy destiny,?Towards Medina lies my quest,
The Holy Prophet summons me.
I should not marvel if for flight
Upon my shoulders wings should start,?My body is so gay and light
With this new gladness in my heart.
My weary patience nears its end;
Unresting heart, that yearns and loves,?Convey me far to meet my friend
Within Medina's garden groves.
My spirit shall not faint nor tire,
Although by many tender bands?My country holds me, I desire
The journey through the desert sands.
By day and night forever now
I burn in Love's hot furnace breath,?Although there gather on my brow
The cold and heavy sweats of death.
And ever in my home in Hind
At dawn's first light, at evenfall,?I hear upon the desert wind
The Prophet of Arabia call.
AMIR.
VI.
The light is in mine eyes,?Within my heart I feel Thy joy arise,?From gate to inmost shrine?This palace of my soul is utterly Thine.
O longing seeking eyes,?He comes to you in many a varied guise,?If Him you cannot find?The shame be yours, O eyes that are so blind.
I as His mirror glow?Bearing His image in my heart, and know?That glowing clear in His?The image of my heart reflected is.
O drink the Wine of Love,?And in the Assembly of Enlightened move,?Let not the darkness dim?Fall like a curtain 'twixt thy soul and Him.
Who gives away his soul?Forgets his petty self and wins the whole,?Losing himself outright?He finds himself in the Eternal Light.
Crazy art thou, Amir,?To wait before His gate in hope and fear;?For never in thy pain?Shall He yield up thy ravished heart again.
AMIR.
VII.
How can I dare profess?I am the lover whom Thou dost prefer!?Thou art the essence of all loveliness,?And I Thy very humblest worshipper.
Upon the Judgment Day?So sweet Thy mercy shall to sinners prove,?That envying