The Garden Of Bright Waters | Page 2

Iran, of a powerful house,
I am pure steel.
I hear that I am spoken of in Lahore."
I have seen a
small proud face brimming with sunlight.
I also hear that they speak of you in Lahore,
You walk with a joyous
step,
Your nails are red and the palms of your hands are rosy.
A
pear-tree with a fresh stem is in your palace gardens,
I would not that
your mother should give my pear-tree
To twine with an evil
spice-tree or fool banana.
I have seen a small proud face brimming
with sunlight.
"The coins that my father gave me for my forehead
Throw rays and
light the hearts of far men;
The ray of light from my red ring is
sharper than a diamond. I go about and about in pride as of hemp wine

And my words are chosen.
But I give you my honey cheeks, dear, I
trust them to you." I have seen a small proud face brimming with
sunlight.
The words of my mouth are coloured and shining things;
And two
great saints are my perpetual guards.
There is never a song of Nur
Uddin but has in it a great achievement And is as brilliant as a young
hyacinth;
I pour a ray of honey on my disciples,
There is as it were
a fire in my ballades.
I have seen a small proud face brimming with
sunlight.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
COME, MY BELOVED!
Come, my beloved! And I say again: Come, my beloved!
The doves
are moaning and calling and will not cease.
Come, my beloved!
"The fairies have made me queen, and my heart is love.
Sweeter than

the green cane is my red mouth."
Come, my beloved!
The jacinth has spilled odour on your hair,
The balance of your neck
is like a jacinth;
You have set a star of green between your brows.

Come, my beloved!
Like lemon-trees among the rocks of grey hills
Are the soft colours of
the airy veil
To your rose knee from your curved almond waist.

Come, my beloved!
Your light breast veil is tawny brown with stags,
Stags with eyes of
emerald, hunted by red kings.
Come, my beloved!
Muhammad Din is wandering; he is drunken and mad;
For a year he
has been dying. Send for the doctor!
Come, my beloved!
_From the Pus'hto of Muhammad Din Tilai (Afghans, nineteenth
century)._
BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD KHAN
She has put on her green robe, she has put on her double veil, my
idol;
My idol has come to me.
She has put on her green robe, my
love is a laughing flower; Gently, gently she comes, she is a young rose,
she has come out of the
garden.
Gently she has shown her face, parting her veil, my idol;
My idol has
come to me.
She has put on her green robe, my love is a young rose
for me to
break.
Her chin has the smooth colour of peaches and she guards it
well; She is the daughter of a Moghol house and well they guard her.
She put on her red jewels when she came with a noise of rings, my

idol;
My idol has come to me.
She has put on her green robe, my
love is the stem of a rose; She breaks not, she is strong.
She has a
throne, but comes into the woods for love.
I was well and she troubled me when she came to me in the evening,
my
idol;
My idol has come to me.
She has put on her green robe, her
wrist is a sword.
The villages speak of her; the child is as fair as
Badri.
She has red lips and six hundred and fifty beads upon her light
blue
scarf.
Give your garland to Muhammad Khan, my idol;
My idol has
come to me.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF TAVAKKUL
To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city
From which my
heart might leap to heaven.
Her breasts are a garden of white roses
Having two drifted hills of
fallen rose-leaves.
Her breasts are a garden where doves are singing
And doves are
moaning with arrows because of her.
All her body is a flower and her face is Shalibagh;
She has fruits of
beautiful colours and the doves abide there.
Over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair....
You have killed Tavakkul, the faithful pupil of Abdel Qadir Gilani.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF SAYYID KAMAL

I am burning, I am crumbled into powder,
I stand to the lips in a
tossing sea of tears.
Like a stone falling in Hamun lake I vanish;
I return no more, I am
counted among the dead.
I am consumed like yellow straw on red flames;
You have drawn a
poisoned sword along my throat to-day.
People have come to see me from far towns,
Great and small, arriving
with bare heads,
For I have become one of the great historical lovers.
In the desire of your red lips
My