Ghazals 11–20 : La blessure et la cicatrice

11. Mir has come to God's house an infidel

Mir has come to God's house an infidel:
the caste-mark on his forehead, the sacred thread about his waist.

How delicate of body is that bold-eyed beloved!
Beside her body the soul itself is not seen.

Countless of her arrows have broken off in my breast;
my whole liver is pierced with holes.

From now on I will weep and fret in the evening;
I saw no effect at all in lamenting at dawn.

I lie senseless without that one drunk with coquetry;
now I come to my senses only once in a watch of the night.

Talk is of character; what is the worth of a face?
If there is no scent in it, aloe-wood is a dry stick.

I have long been a neighbour of the wine-sellers, so that
a wall of the wine-house stands in my own house.

Perhaps now my weeping will take on colour morning and evening:
some blood keeps glinting in my wet eyes.

How will I get along in this world of water and clay?
All my baggage has fallen by the way on the journey.

12. I bore wounds and suffered many scars

I bore wounds and suffered many scars;
having given my heart, I regretted it much.

Now and then you went out from your place;
I, for my part, came to you many times.

From the temple she did not come a step towards the Kaaba;
I brought my temper round her way many times.

Flowers and roses, the sun and the moon, all were there,
but among them all it was you I liked best.

If there is weeping with this noise at night,
many neighbours will weep for want of sleep.

When she came out at dawn like the sun,
the roses and flowers wilted much from envy.

When I asked Mir, "Are you a lover?",
he fell somewhat silent and was much abashed.

13. Live in the world in grief or in joy

Live in the world in grief or in joy,
but do something here before you go, that you may be long remembered.

Beauty is a captivity like the twining of the love-vine;
what joy is there if you stay free like the cypress?

Madness pleases me only in the cities;
in the desert you may be Qais, on the mountain Farhad.

That one is heavy with the sleep of her own pride;
cry for justice against injustice all night, or cry out in complaint.

Mir, I was very glad to meet you, dear;
in this ruin, my love, may you stay and flourish.

14. It only stares at the face of this one and that

It only stares at the face of this one and that:
whose bewildered lover is this mirror?

From evening on I stay half quenched;
my heart has become a poor man's lamp.

The tavern-servers' looks were menacing, but
the shaikh slipped out of the tavern well enough.

The scars are all blooming from my eyes;
my hand has become a bunch of narcissus.

The sea is shallow, like a bubble,
whose bowl-licker you have now become.

Cloud, take your bounty from my wet eyes;
today their skirt is wide.

Who has the strength to hear Mir's state?
The state of the gathering itself is something else.

15. Whenever anyone spoke your name before me

Whenever anyone spoke your name before me,
I held my wounded heart and held it.

If one must swear, swear by the fortune of Zulaikha:
the wife of Egypt's lord took a slave to be her master.

The taverns stood ruined before the mosque;
the cupbearer's drunken glance has taken its revenge.

That wayward one never met me on the road,
nor ever took my greeting in a straight manner.

Fowler, I will show you the taste of your cruelty
if the restlessness of captivity takes me under the net.

My love lasted by my own good manners:
my whole life long I made do with failures.

Though I am a recluse among the poets, Mir,
yet my clamour has taken the whole face of the earth.

16. Again and again my heart peered into the grave

Again and again my heart peered into the grave;
this time it has fulfilled the pledge of faith.

The goods of the heart had no value;
I carried them round the whole world for show.

The heart, which is not more than a drop of blood,
has brought calamity on the heads of a whole world.

The burden that weighed on everyone,
this weakling has lifted and brought.

My heart took me to that lane
and laid me lower still in the dust.

All my friends died at the very beginning;
who has ever reached the end of love?

Now, Mir, we leave the house of idols;
we will meet again if God brings us.

17. I hold a thousand desires

I hold a thousand desires,
yet I keep my heart subdued.

Lightning is short of courage; I too
keep a little restless heart.

Only the rival is the object of your favour;
I too hold love for you.

No glance, no message, no promise:
in name only I too have a friend.

Who sings as sweetly as I do? Though
a thousand have lips and a voice.

The idols are famous as thieves of the heart;
that is all the credit they hold.

Still Mir sahib falls in love:
he is young; he has the choice.

18. What shall I say of love's true nature?

What shall I say of love's true nature?
With those who know the Truth, love is God.

If the heart is engaged, the soul lifts from the world:
love is the name that death gives to affection.

Other remedies have no part in it:
the medicine for the pain of love is love.

How it drowned us in the ocean of grief!
We had thought love was a friend.

No place is empty of love;
from the heart up to the Throne of God, love fills it.

What, will the mountain-cutter cut the mountain?
Behind the veil it is love that tries its strength.

Love it is that has brought together
lovers of every kind.

Who has reached his goal without love?
Love is the desire, and love the thing desired.

Mir, one has to die for the beautiful ones:
do not fall in love, for love is an evil calamity.

19. All my life I was like one drunk

All my life I was like one drunk
from a single flask of my blood-filled heart.

The soul sinks away from dawn on, alas;
in what ruin will the night pass?

The bud has learned to open little by little
from the half-sleep of her eyes.

The moment the veil was lifted, a moon came out;
I am scarred by her unveiling.

There was much work to do in love, but Mir,
I alone was done with it in haste.

20. If Mir goes on weeping with such noise

If Mir goes on weeping with such noise,
how will the neighbour go on sleeping?

I am that weeper who has left the world
for whom the cloud will weep every year.

My work, adviser, is mostly weeping;
how long will you go on washing my face?

Enough, weeping: are these not your own eyes?
How long will you go on drowning the world?

My heart has brought forth such a lament
as will keep robbing even the caravan bell of its senses.

Go on, curse the rival with relish like this;
if you say something to me, so be it.

Enough, Mir, wipe the tears with your eyelashes;
how long will you go on stringing these pearls?