الغزليات ١–١٠: لماذا تبكي في طريق الحب الطويل؟

1. Why weep on love's long road?

Why weep, when love's road is so long?
Wait and see what is still to come.

There is a stir in the caravan at dawn:
we are moving on, heedless one; are you asleep?

This soil will never turn green;
why sow the seed of longing in your heart?

These are love's marks; they will not go.
Why wash the scars on your breast in vain?

This precious time would shame even Joseph;
Mir, why throw it away for nothing?

2. Our being is like a bubble

Our being is like a bubble,
this whole display like a mirage.

What can I say of the softness of her lips?
They are like the petal of a rose.

Again and again I go to her door;
my state is now like one in torment.

When I spoke, she said, "This voice
is like that ruined wretch's voice."

Mir, in those half-closed eyes
lies all the intoxication of wine.

3. Every leaf and every bush knows my state

Every leaf and every bush knows my state;
let the rose not know, the whole garden knows.

Before that proud one we cry "God, God";
when does that vain, self-adoring one believe that God exists?

There will be no one in the world as simple as a lover:
he counts the loss of his life in her love as his gain.

Curing the sick heart is not the custom in the city of beauty;
else even the foolish beloved knows the cure for this pain.

Kindness, faithfulness, grace and favour: she knows not one of them;
but taunts and hints, signs and allusions, all the rest she knows.

The lover is ever dead; he comes to life on seeing her;
he takes his friend's sudden coming for a second life.

How thirsty for his own blood is Mir, foolish drinker of bitterness:
the keen water of her sword he takes for sweet water.

4. See whether it rises from the heart or the soul

See whether it rises from the heart or the soul:
where does this smoke-like thing rise from?

Whose grave of a burnt heart is this sky?
Every dawn a flame rises from here.

Do not by any means leave the house of the heart;
does anyone leave such a dwelling?

When my lament lifts up its head,
a clamour rises from the sky.

Wherever her bold eye goes to battle,
an uproar rises from that place.

Flame of my voice, look to your own house too:
some smoke is rising from the nest.

Who will ever let him sit again
who rises from your threshold?

So we rose, alas, from that lane,
as one rises from the world.

Love, Mir, is a heavy stone;
how can a weakling like you lift it?

5. All my plans turned upside down; no medicine worked

All my plans turned upside down; no medicine worked;
you saw how this sickness of the heart finished me at last.

I wept away the days of youth; in age I closed my eyes:
that is, I had kept long awake at night; at dawn I took my rest.

No word against her gift of life; it is the virtue of my fate:
what she first sent me word of was the message of my death.

Unjustly is this charge of free will laid on us, the helpless:
she does whatever she wills, and has given us a bad name for nothing.

All the drunkards and rakes of the world bow down to you;
the dandies, the crooked, the slanting, the sharp: you are made the imam of all.

Little disrespect came from me, even in my madness:
for miles I went towards her, and bowed at every step.

Whose Kaaba, what qibla, which sanctuary, what pilgrim's robe?
The dwellers of her lane have greeted them all from here.

The shaikh who stands naked in the mosque was at the tavern last night:
in his drunkenness he gave away gown and cloak, shirt and cap.

Would that she lifted the veil from her face now, or else what is gained?
Though she has thrown her sight open to all, it is when my eyes are closed.

My share in the white and black of this world is only this:
I wept the night through to the morning, or got the day somehow to evening.

At dawn, in the garden, the trouble of the breeze had brought her somewhere:
with her face she bought the rose; with her stature she made the cypress her slave.

She brought both her silver forearms into my hand, then let them go;
I trusted her word and oath; alas, what a raw fancy it was!

All my efforts have been wasted by pleading every hour;
the more I pressed her, the fourfold more she grew indifferent.

It was hard to tame the wildness of such a startled deer;
it was magic, it was a miracle, those people who made you tame.

Why do you ask now of Mir's faith and religion? He
has drawn the caste-mark, sits in the temple, and long ago gave up Islam.

6. The head that today is proud of its crown

The head that today is proud here of its crown,
tomorrow, here, over it will rise the noise of mourning.

The fairy's cheek is ashamed before your face;
nothing avails the mountain partridge's gait before you.

Who has passed safely through the stage of this world?
Here every traveller's baggage was plundered on the road.

Even in prison the frenzy of my madness did not go;
a stone is now the only cure for this distracted head.

Wherever my eye engaged, look, there it stays:
the mirror has caught the habit of the wandering gaze.

A hundred seasons of roses passed for us beneath our wings;
we never saw the power of the wingless and featherless.

It glitters so on the eyelash that you would say
your tear is a piece of the carnelian of the liver.

Yesterday I went and walked by the sea as well:
it was a beggar to the wetness of the eyelashes' grip.

Breathe softly, for the work is very delicate
in this glassmaker's workshop of the world.

Come soon and ask after Mir, whose heart is burnt;
friend, what trust can one put in a lamp at dawn?

7. I came like a beggar, called out, and went

I came like a beggar, called out, and went:
"Be happy, sir," I prayed for you, and went.

We who used to say we would not live without you
have kept that vow now, and went.

Healing was not in my fate;
I took the medicine as far as I could, and went.

Such things befell me at the end
that, helpless, I burned my soul so, and went.

What thing is it, alas, for whose sake
I lifted my heart from every thing, and went?

Someone might have cast at least a hopeless look,
but you hid even your face from me, and went.

I had a great longing for your lane:
so I bathed in blood here, and went.

You showed yourself so that I lost myself;
you parted me even from myself, and went.

My forehead wore away in bowing and bowing;
I paid what servitude was owed, and went.

I worshipped you so, O idol,
that I made you God in everyone's eyes, and went.

As flowers fall from the rose-bush,
so I came into the garden of the world, and went.

I never saw my friends' grief, thank God;
I showed them my own wound, and went.

My life went in bondage to the thought of the ghazal;
so I made that art so great, and went.

What will you say, Mir, if someone asks you:
"What did you do when you came into the world, and went?"

8. When do tears not come to my eyes?

When do tears not come to my eyes?
When they do not come, blood comes.

My senses have not left me, but
when she comes, they do not come.

Patience was the one companion of separation;
now it has not come for a long time.

Some desire has taken leave of the heart;
weeping does not come for no reason.

Love's condition is courage, or else
who does not know the way of speaking?

What things are in my heart, O friend,
but the words do not come to my lips.

The dust of Mir has settled far from her:
without love this courtesy does not come.

9. Friends, forgive me, I am drunk

Friends, forgive me, I am drunk;
now if you give, give only an empty cup; I am drunk.

As each one gets a draught in the round, give me one too;
do not fill my cup with wine; I am drunk.

My talk is muddled by my drunkenness;
say what you like to me too; I am drunk.

Either pass me hand to hand like a cup of wine,
or walk a little way with me; I am drunk.

I am to be excused if my foot falls astray;
do not be cross with me; I am drunk.

The Friday prayer will not run away;
I am coming too; just wait a little; I am drunk.

Mir sahib, you are delicate in temper beyond measure:
do not touch me with your lips, like a glass; I am drunk.

10. What shall I tell you love is?

What shall I tell you love is?
It is the soul's sickness, a calamity, love.

It is love, love, wherever you look;
love fills the whole world.

Love is the style and way of love itself;
here it is the servant, there it is God, love.

Love is the beloved, love is the lover;
that is, love is in love with itself.

If worship of God is proven true,
in some form or other, love is good.

Where is there such an enchanting enemy of life?
It is the plaintiff, and it is the plea, love.

He too is a lover of our own kind,
anyone, anywhere, who has fallen in love.

No one seeks to buy affection;
you would say love is a forbidden ware.

Mir sahib, you are growing pale;
what do we say: have you too fallen in love?