The Garden Of Bright Waters | Page 4

hair is a panther's shadow."
I will touch you, though your beauty be as fair as song;
For I am a
disciple of Abdel Qadir Gilani,
And my songs are as beautiful as
women and as strong as love; And your hair is a panther's shadow.
Your ring is frosted with rubies....
Muhammad Din awaits the parting
of your scarves;
Tilai is standing here, young and magnificent like a
tree; And your hair is a panther's shadow.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._

GHAZAL OF MIRA
The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.
I came to ask for
alms and have lost my all,
I had a copper-shod quarter-staff but the
dogs attacked me, And not a strand of her hair came the way of my lips.

The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.
The lamp burns and I must play the green moth.
I have stolen her
scented rope of flowers,
But the women caught me and built a little
gaol
About my heart with your old playthings.
The lover to his lass:
I have fallen before your door.
Mira is a mountain goat that climbs to die
Upon the top peak in the
rocks of grief;
It is the hour; make haste.
The lover to his lass: I
have fallen before your door.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF MAJID SHAH
Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me;
The black dust has
covered my pretty one.
My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend;
How pleasantly
would go the days if my friend were here.
I can only dream of the stature of my friend;
The flowers are dying in
my heart, my breast is a fading garden.
Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers; I
am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey.
I am Majid Shah, a slave that ministers to the dead;
Abdel Qadir
Gilani, even the Master, shall not save me.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._

GHAZAL OF MIRA
The world passes, nothing lasts, and the creation of men
Is buried
alive under the vault of Time.
Autumn comes pillaging gardens;
The bulbuls laugh to see the
flowers falling.
Wars start up wherever your eye glances,
And the young men moan
marching on to the batteries.
Mira is the unkempt old man you see on the road;
He has taken his
death-wound in battle.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
BALLADE OF AJAM THE WASHERMAN
Come to me to-day wearing your green collar,
Make your two orange
sleeves float in the air, and come to me. Touch your hair with essence
and colour your clothes yellow; The deer of reason has fled from the
hill of my heart;
Come to me.
The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart
Because I have
seen your gold rings and your amber rings;
Your eyes have lighted a
small fire below my heart,
Put on your gold rings and your amber
rings, and come to me.
Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more
beautiful
Than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of
kings. The coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope;
But press me to
your green collar between your orange sleeves.
Press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves,
And give
yourself once to Ajam. Slip away weeping,
Slip weeping away from
the house of the wicked, and come to me. Come to me to-day wearing

your green collar,
Make your two orange sleeves float in the air and
come to me.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._
GHAZAL OF ISA AKHUN ZADA
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me;
Breathing idol of
rose ivory, look at me;
Beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a
little thing,
Lend your small ears to my quick sighing.
Breathing
idol, I have come to the walls of death;
And there are coloured cures
behind the crystal of your eyes. Life is a tale ill constructed without
love.
Beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me;
I am at your
door wasted and white and dying.
Breathing idol of rose ivory, look
at me;
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.
This is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam
Listen to
these quick sighings and their wisdom.
All the world has spied on us
and seen our love,
And in four days or five days will be whispering
evil.
Knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever;

Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.
After that we will
both of us go to prison.
Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;

Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.
My quick sighings carry a tender promise;
I will have time to
remember in the battle,
Though all the world is a thousand whistling
swords against me. The iron is still in the