Hindustani Lyrics | Page 8

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