Hindustani Lyrics | Page 9

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