Ghazals I

Ghazals I

Ghazal: Modesty drips from those eyes: just look at the manner

Modesty drips from those eyes: just look at the manner!
Even on the lustful her coquetry is cruel: just look!

For that idol I gave up the desire for the houris;
just look at the beginning of this love that ends so well!

What is this wink at my madness, worthy counsellor?
Just look at the way that spell-weaving eye glances!

The lustful, though they lost, still staked their lives;
just look at the ill luck of the lover who gives his life!

The moment my name came up in the gathering, she rose and left;
just look at the honour paid to the lovers' disgrace!

In company you steal glances at my rivals;
you want the secret not to stay hidden: just look!

Every note of that rival of Venus is a *dipak*; [TN: the raga said to set lamps alight when sung.]
her voice leaps up like a flame: just look!

My tears bear witness to the purity of my skirt; [TN: as Joseph's torn shirt proved his innocence before Zulaikha's charge.]
just look at the miracle of that heartless Joseph!

Even in paradise, Momin, alas, I shall not meet the idols;
just look at the cruelty of death, the divider!

Ghazal: Fire take these hot tears! How my heart was burned

Fire take these hot tears! How my heart was burned!
She wiped my tears last night, and her hand blistered.

It was a boil, not a heart; the wretch was full of flaws;
at the knock of a breath, the life went out of it.

Why weep at the brazen eyes of my black fortune?
There she is still busy with collyrium; here the flood has passed.

She taught me to wring my hands; else why, in the gathering,
did she rub the perfume first on my rivals?

Was it the breeze of that lane, or was it my own sigh?
Something fanned the fire of my heart.

My lowliness is like that of those asleep in the dust:
when an earthquake came, they only turned on their side.

How low the worship of that footprint has brought me!
I went even into my rival's lane on my head.

My heart was somewhat fallen; but now that you, out of coquetry,
have cast me down, my heart has recovered.

If this dust should mingle with dust, she used the dust of that place
for her clay, else why did those delicate feet slip?

Do not trouble me from the idol-house to the Kaaba;
Momin, excuse me now, for here my heart is content.

Ghazal: It does not move her in the least

It does not move her in the least;
grief does not bring comfort.

You complain that I call you faithless,
yet you do not keep your promise either.

From the talk of my rivals I learned
that the counsellor's word is not so bad.

Who has a taste for bitterness? Yet
without a quarrel there is no relish.

You did not become mine in any way;
else what does not happen in the world?

Who knows what she did when she took it?
The heart is good for nothing now.

Go on testing me only as long as
my longing does not try its strength.

One enemy, the sky, should not remain;
even this, O prayer, you cannot do.

Ah, long hope grows from day to day,
though not one wish is fulfilled.

You are with me, as it were,
when no one else is.

How shall I write my state to my love?
My hand will not part from my heart.

May there be no pity for the enemy of another's life;
not every heart is the same.

Let her skirt be long if it is;
the lover's hand does not reach it.

There is no cure for the heart but patience,
and that is not possible without you.

Why should she hear a distraught plea, Momin?
An idol, after all, is not God.

Ghazal: This flood of words has worn me out

This flood of words has worn me out;
counsellor, do not take my life; my heart is gone, and gone it is.

Out of spite she went again into my rival's house;
O jealousy, it was my life that went; what did you lose?

If this is weakness, how far could I go even on my breath?
The shock of losing myself made me faint.

Why ask for counsel in the bitterness of love?
Its pleasures are such that you have eaten my life away.

As my eyes closed, my eyes seemed to open:
the heart was a plague on my life; good that it went.

The eyes that sought her glances of favour
found in my sight that loss of the heart.

My tactless rivals were glad of the jasmine's scent;
that rose has lost its trust in the breeze and the zephyr.

Has my morning sigh not come back from the sky?
What wind is this that blew and made my heart shiver?

The calamity of the night of grief no longer comes into sight;
what moon-faced one's splendour has filled my eyes?

O pull of the heart, do not stop, for that flame-faced one did not stay;
she came warm and glowing, but she left me burned.

It was my fate, ruined as I am, that knowingly
she let my rival's letter fall in my house.

The enemy will rub henna on her feet; then why
did she come and kick my burning breast?

He gave up his life the moment he kissed the idol's eye;
what did Momin remember? The Black Stone. [TN: the stone set in the Kaaba, kissed by pilgrims.]

Ghazal: Our verse has the miracle of giving life

Our verse has the miracle of giving life;
we have brought to life the name of the Messiah.

In the letter to my rival, write a greeting to your slave?
Your servant's only greeting to such a greeting is farewell.

Now there is an uproar since I likened her gait to Doomsday;
who knew the name of Doomsday like this before?

She is coming to kill me from afar, O crowd of despair;
take care she does not take fright at the throng.

Though you gave a harsh answer, yet
do not tell me the message of my enemy.

Here union is the amends for separation, O sky;
why do you think up a fresh cruelty in revenge?

The wanton capers of your proud steed
set on fire my anxious lament.

Ah, why do you laugh at my weeping, you merry ones?
I weep for my heart, which was paradise to me.

By bearing your wrongs I have spoiled your nature;
I ruined my own affairs myself.

By burning my rival through her, I hope to be made firm;
may fire take the raw fancies of the heart!

If my white fortune would hold up a mirror,
I would show that mirror-bright one the wrongs done to my heart.

When you walk alongside the lover's bier,
who then will heed the heirs' general leave?

Perhaps the days of some ill-starred one have turned;
my rival no longer walks that lane in the evening.

For long we heard the name of Momin; well, today
we saw that leader of poets too.

Ghazal: It is she who complains, and with what grace

It is she who complains, and with what grace!
Taunts at my weakness, with excuses for her cruelty.

She came to visit me in my sickness, but with death:
my breath went out at the sound of her step.

Not to see her sitting unveiled beside my rival,
would that I too had left the world with modesty!

Has that tulip-faced one gone to stroll in the garden?
There is some colour, not the scent of roses, with the breeze.

Where is her lane? This is some garden of paradise;
where has death brought me and left me?

The smell of a scar comes in the dark night of parting;
has my breast too been torn with my robe?

Whose song of the nightingale has turned into a plot to kill?
Today there is a smell of blood in the breeze from there.

I was glad of her promise to come again, not knowing
that my life is bound to that very faithless one.

Can you wipe my rival's face from your lane?
The lover's head is pressed to your footprint.

God, what straying! Leaving idol and idol-house,
Momin has set out for the Kaaba with a pious man.

Ghazal: How long this cruelty to test me

How long this cruelty to test me?
How long this favour that looks like oppression?

My rival is faithless, but tell me,
how long do you mean to keep faith?

Zulaikha's crime is known;
how long the taunt of the hand that cannot reach?

The tyrant is not in love with me at all;
how long, after all, can faithfulness be patient?

Let us see how long
the glance of that collyrium-dark eye will bring me to the dust.

At some point you will have glared at me enough;
how long will you look toward my rival?

She will not meet my eyes, she will not come;
how long this rapture of "Here I am!" and "Welcome!"?

Come to your senses, for I have no life left;
how long this heedlessness that tests my daring?

There, I have lived through even my rival's night of union;
how long will you test me?

You have grown used to wrongdoing;
how long, pray, shall I overlook it?

I am dying; now let me meet that idol;
Momin, how long this fear of God?

Ghazal: If the tyrant gave up cruelty out of heedlessness

If the tyrant gave up cruelty out of heedlessness,
what amends did she make, after all?

At the beginning of my love, alas,
she too was left longing for cruelty.

I never saw justice, nor did I see her face;
I was mostly in a Doomsday of my own.

I would go and hide from the sky's hand, if only
someone would bring me news of the lowest depths of the earth.

How I burned on my enemy's night of union!
The truth of the Day of Judgement became clear to me.

No one came into the garden from that lane;
all the zephyr's labour was wasted.

Today she has girded herself to open my heart;
the knot of her robe is not safe.

When she showed me the least favour,
I had to have my wish fulfilled.

My rival has told you of my state;
the boldness of your manner gives it away.

What have you to do with the uproar of my cries?
See to your own collyrium-dark eye.

The sky gave me learning and skill to suffer longing;
what a trick it has played on me!

Grief for my unreached goal till the last gasp, and I;
now death has come to my fortune that never arrives.

O heart, your haste has killed me;
it is not the fault of that slow-to-warm one.

Tired of cruelty, still you did not ask
on what hope I kept faith.

When Momin told that idol, "I am dying,"
she said, "What can I do? It is God's will."

Ghazal: O longing to be slain, hold the heart a moment

O longing to be slain, hold the heart a moment;
it has become hard for my killer to hold herself back.

The power of restlessness creates frustration;
her task is to hold back her wanton nature.

She is looking at the moonlight; let her not fall to the ground;
O sky, hold your full moon.

She knew from my way of speaking for whom I am distraught;
why speak of it now? Hold back the clever listener.

How should she not be shaken by the whirlwind of my lament?
It has become hard to hold the curtain of the litter.

They have learned from me a lament of the flute that shatters the sky;
fowler, hold the nightingales in the cage now.

May it not be this curling tress; what strength has another
to hold the chains of one maddened by you?

O friend, ah, I have no breath left from the bitterness of parting;
see, the cup of poison is falling; hold it.

Like quicksilver I died of holding in my anguish;
what a torment it is to hold back a heart that is inclined!

The grave's embrace was soaked in blood at last;
it is not easy to hold one you have wounded.

As soon as I laid my hand on my breast, my breath was in danger;
there, holding my heart has become a torment to my life.

I still long to tear my collar;
enough, O mender, hold your fingers.

Do not beg the idols for mercy, for it is forbidden;
Momin, hold the tongue of the idle beggar.

Ghazal: So that nothing should disturb your sweet sleep

So that nothing should disturb your sweet sleep,
I do not want my long night to be any shorter.

The rose-cheeked one's face has another colour today;
it was my heart's blood, though, in the adorner of her face.

Why should he not wake half the night through, who is thinking
of that half-asleep gazelle, that half-open narcissus?

Khusrau had the joy of union with his love, and the mountain-cutter the death-agony; [TN: Farhad, who cut through the mountain for Shirin, while King Khusrau married her.]
my own heart turned to blood in love's discrimination.

Without you, the gathering of pictures has this ugliness:
the flute-player's tune has the effect of the trumpet of Doomsday.

Now my rival complains of her favours,
since he heard my extravagance in begging her to keep away.

Have all breasts been burned? Have all hearts melted?
There is no smell of roasting now in the liver-melting sigh.

In love for one in seclusion let there be no tearing of veils;
there are unveilings in the soul that hides a secret.

Whom did she see near my rival through the crack of the door, that today
there is quite another breach in my breach-making lament?

Momin, in remembering the idols, a hundred thousand times we too,
from excess of anguish, have sat down and stood up, if you have stayed up at night at prayer. [TN: the sitting and standing of the night prayer.]

Ghazal: There is no power in patience, nor any effect in restlessness

There is no power in patience, nor any effect in restlessness;
in what a torment helplessness has put my soul!

Without a lament from my mouth, without weeping from my eyes,
do not ask how the pieces of my heart fall away in restlessness.

In sky and earth no trace of repentance can be found
amid the riot of spring and the crowding of clouds.

O Venus-faced one, do not look at my ill-omened enemy;
streams of blood will flow at his victory.

So much grime in my tears, I am amazed; what can I say?
Is there a mirage in the river, or a river in the mirage?

Out of thought for the end, wine and the beloved stayed dear to me;
in old age I remembered death; in youth, old age.

When you go out for a stroll, the sun too will come out;
there will be a gathering in the moonlit night.

The ship of the earth has sunk in the flood of my tears;
the fish was thrown into turmoil in the surge of the water. [TN: the fish on which, in legend, the earth rests.]

When I opened the ledger of my complaints, I did myself harm;
the night of union passed in counting her cruelties.

O Doomsday, quickly turn the world upside down;
if there is no other hope, there is hope in revolution.

The killer did not give up cruelty, nor I faithfulness:
if my head is on her saddle-strap, my life is in her stirrup.

My love's cruelty and the sky's oppression made me a plaything;
since childhood I have been the talk of old and young.

Momin, such is the charm of that life-giving idol
that my heart is attached to a world wholly in ruins.

Ghazal: You too have taken to being cross, sir

You too have taken to being cross, sir;
has my shadow fallen on you somewhere, sir?

It is only your servant who is faithless, sir;
your rival and you are good, very good, sir.

Why do you quarrel with the movement of my lips?
Is all well? What have I done, sir?

Why have you begun to give me my letter of freedom?
Has your slave committed some sin, sir?

Ah, the teasing! Last night, hearing and hearing
my state, you said, "Well, what of it, sir?"

Even at the last breath you do not come;
my respects, then, for I am going, sir.

Oppression, torment, tyranny, injustice, cruelty:
whatever you did, you did well, sir.

With whom had you quarrelled, with whom were you angry?
With whom were you cross last night, sir?

Whom were you giving a hundred thousand curses?
Whose kind mention was it last night, sir?

Do not take the name of the love of idols, Momin;
just call on God, on God alone, sir.

Ghazal: Even in union there was the worry of parting all night

Even in union there was the worry of parting all night;
though she came, sleep did not come all night.

There, taunts like the beloved's arrows; here, complaints that spill out wounds:
what a delightful fight we had together all night!

Those hands are red these days with the blood of my head,
in which that henna-dyed hand lay all night.

Here my tongue never touched my palate till dawn;
who was it that went on singing all night?

At the first sight of me I fainted, and so
she too forgot her ravishing ways all night.

Why should I not have died of parting as soon as morning came?
What pains I had suffered all night!

She was hot in answering my complaint of my enemy's cruelty;
that flame-natured one burned my soul all night.

The moon-faced one says, "If he is not your rival, why
is it always union all day and parting all night?"

Set your foot on the threshold, for, ah, in this longing
someone has rubbed his forehead there all night.

Momin, I am a sacrifice to my laments, for they say
that tonight she too did not sleep all night.

Ghazal: I burn in separation from the fair one and in the memory of wine

I burn in separation from the fair one and in the memory of wine;
the desire for reward has thrown me into torment.

She says, "You lose your senses in your restlessness":
all my complaints were finished by one answer.

The beloved's fragrance spread from my red tears;
my heart was dreadfully squeezed in its writhing.

Seeing the frown on her brow, my heart was more knotted;
what a loosening of affairs in the loosening of the veil!

I must have been somewhat bad, since my love did not choose me;
O longing, such a mistake in the choosing!

High and low are gathered in the lane of the beloved;
one house is inhabited in a world in ruins.

Her eyes had turned away, and my heart turned too;
this was another revolution within the revolution.

She has been disgraced by my shameless weeping;
what excuse is left now for her unveiled glance?

The search for my aim has brought me to this state:
there is not even longing now in my unsuccessful heart.

As if I weep for my rivals' lives,
fire has leaped up in the storm of water.

All my life I dealt only with failures:
the despair in old age is what was desire in youth.

Gain and loss are in my love's power, but
in the account of fate we were surplus to the world.

The counsellor is so fault-finding and heart-wounding,
as if there were merit in wrong words.

That we are both in one state: would that this were her meaning!
Why else did she send back that same letter in answer?

My fate is bad, and my speech bad too;
she grew angry when I asked the reason for her keeping away.

What splendours I remembered! I do not know myself;
I am drunk without wine on a moonlit night.

It is the time for entreaties; let the complaint be;
she has come to make up, though in anger.

Without your cruelty I am safe from all enemies:
my rival drunk, my heart lost in thought, my fortune asleep.

Unceasing prostrations at the idol's feet at the moment of farewell:
Momin forgot God in his restlessness.

Ghazal: If the mirror is not put to shame by your face

If the mirror is not put to shame by your face,
let it turn its face toward a mirror-like one.

The mirror says, seeing my love's cheek,
"For such clearness let the mirror be a sacrifice."

The black-faced will not give up loving the rose-coloured one,
though I show the lustful a thousand mirrors.

Where is the clearness of the heart valued in dark days?
The mirror is the morning lamp of dark nights.

Perhaps the parrot took that green one for a mirror, [TN: parrots were taught to speak by placing a mirror before them.]
for the mirror is hoping for a sight of her.

I am so hard of life that if they show me a mirror at my last breath, [TN: a mirror was held to the mouth of the dying to see if there was breath.]
the mirror will break the back of the mountain.

Before that bright face its tin was exposed;
like quicksilver on fire the mirror would not stay. [TN: the mirror's back was silvered with tin and mercury.]

Perhaps your ever-new splendours are filling it,
for the mirror has become a talisman of spring.

We too laugh in our drunkenness at the fading of colour;
we shall show them a mirror at the hour of the hangover.

To me you say, "Do not look toward me,"
and you yourself look again and again in the mirror.

Forbidding faithfulness is a calamity; the light has gone, counsellor;
take a mirror and look at the colour of your own cheek.

Understand, Momin: if self-regard is unlawful,
why should the pious look in the mirror?

Ghazal: The soul's going out is a stir like the scent of a rose

The soul's going out is a stir like the scent of a rose;
O morning breeze, just turn me on my side as you go.

It is hard to recover from the slip of love,
for this heart to be beguiled by the clearness of that face.

When the heart throbbed in my breast, I saw she had only laid her hand there;
then I forgot how my hand had blistered. [TN: an echo of the blistered hand in the ghazal "Fire take these hot tears".]

Do not be so flustered; take your rest right here;
stay in my house today, and go tomorrow, or later still.

O heart, how she tantalised us when she came here!
Was it you who taught her to slip out of control?

How can one bring a claim on Judgement Day against such a man as I,
who took the sight of his killer for a favour from death?

Cruelty is all kindness; how great a change there has been!
It is hard for a temper to change so much all at once.

When did I accept the preacher's praise of the houris just like that?
Come, it is folly to be beguiled by words.

Love is a calamity they know nothing of; if one is a lover, one knows it;
there, the physicians took me for a case of black bile.

What talk he makes up! He burns my soul;
he shows camphor burning in water.

The point is that in union the lustful one is in torment;
O heart, do not melt in the warmth of this company.

He has strength enough to draw breath, though sick with love;
even this much is a blessing: Momin's recovery.

Ghazal: When we whose goods are burned are buried in the earth

When we whose goods are burned are buried in the earth,
the fish's scales will be the snuffed wicks of a bedchamber candle.

Wherever the beloved's arrow-shooting eyes are turned,
many will be half-slain, many lifeless.

She cannot bear the sight; why should I let her look in the mirror?
They will become pictures too, those who are struck with wonder.

Where will you go, night of parting? Find yourself a home;
tomorrow I shall be in the sleep of non-being.

Counsellor, at least understand this much in your heart:
however foolish we are, shall we be more foolish than you?

That you should wound me and repent is not possible at all;
even if you do, you will repent too late.

There is one of us who has repented so much, enough!
And there is one who will still have longings for love.

Listen, O wave of the wind, we shall take the twist out of you
if a hair of her tresses is disordered.

O Lord, will my madness ever find patience or not?
Will the healers too ever be prisoners in the jail?

We shall never accept the favour of the holy Jesus;
shall we be obliged to anyone for life?

The enemy lies about the grave of your burning heart:
there will be no flowers there, but sparks of a blazing fire.

The deer of the sanctuary watch the circling closely; [TN: the deer of Mecca, which may not be hunted, and the circling of the Kaaba.]
should I say they will be sacrificed for the dog of her lane?

The scars of my heart will spring from my grave like tulips;
these are not embers that will stay hidden in the dust.

If these are the glances through a torn curtain, O veiled one,
not I alone, but all will tear their collars.

Spring has come again; there will be the same wandering in the wilderness;
again the same feet, again the same acacia thorns.

The same stone and hand, the same head and scar of madness;
we shall be the same, and the same wilds and wastes.

All your life passed in loving idols, Momin;
will you become a Muslim at the last hour? Nonsense!

Ghazal: I am somewhat attached to a pair of tresses

I am somewhat attached to a pair of tresses;
O God, what a calamity I have run into!

How long can one get on with an idol who will not know one?
How far can one keep faith with that faithless one?

What flowers the memory of my love's air made bloom
when the scent of roses came from the garden with the breeze!

From now on I shall pray for separation from my love,
for after all, effect is at enmity with prayer.

Whom am I waiting for, that even from the sleep of non-being
I start up every time at the sound of a footstep?

O Lord, how can life last in union with my love?
My soul goes out with every single grace of hers.

God, the heat of the fire of grief! Even after death
flames rise with the wind from my dust.

I would sacrifice a hundred lives for such a death:
that she should weep so bitterly with the mourners.

Her unveiled glance is bathed in sweat each moment;
who looked at her with a hot glance, and with modesty?

Even after death there was the same wandering;
alas, the soul went with the breath that never arrived.

The hand of madness took it for my collar,
and caught on the knot of the coquette's robe.

As soon as you came, they all left; else what
a throng of despairs there was with my longing heart!

I am glad even of her spite, for at least everyone says
that troublemaker has a grudge against this sufferer.

God, what straying! Leaving idol and idol-house,
Momin has set out for the Kaaba with a pious man.

Momin, recite that same ghazal at which last night in the gathering
souls came to the lips with "Bravo!" and "How fine!"

Ghazal: The heart is no longer fit for the beloved's love

The heart is no longer fit for the beloved's love;
that ardour, that fervour, that flood is gone.

The heart has grown cold to warmth from dejection;
what effect can there be, when there is no cry or lament left?

We mend the wound of our liver ourselves;
there is no thought left at all of the stirring of eyelashes.

From the heart's hardships a delicacy has come into my nature;
patience and endurance are no longer the anguish of my soul.

We faint, or have no mind for it, like one in a garment of roses,
since I no longer have the head for the perfume of a collar.

Why should the coquette's eye not change, now that I
am no longer enthralled by the grace of the spell-casting narcissus?

Now I complain of my failures, now I give thanks for them;
the longing for union and the sorrow of parting are gone.

Without heaps upon heaps of dust I have been relieved of my load;
the favour of love's madness is no longer on my head.

Each moment I shut my eyes to the splendours of the sun;
my wondering eye is no longer a hall of mirrors.

How I go about hiding my face from the veiled ones!
I have been disgraced, for my grief is no longer hidden.

It is not the spell of the angry eye of the fairy-faced;
O friendly one, one glance! For I am no longer human.

Day and night I am free, with nothing to hope for;
that business of longing and despair is gone.

My heart has begun to feel at home without roaming the deserts and wilds,
and in this ruined house, for it is no longer desolate.

Have the bitternesses sewn up the lips of my wound?
That clamour of longing for the salt-cellar is gone.

I have lost all credit by giving up love,
since I no longer keep my promises and pledges.

Sleep has come with the tale of the locks and tresses;
there is no fear or fancy of troubled dreams.

What use am I, who have no business left with anyone?
I have a head, but the makings of pride are gone.

Momin, why this boasting of love for piety? Is it
that no enemy of faith is left in Delhi?

Ghazal: When I found no way into that coquette's heart

When I found no way into that coquette's heart,
I too gave up my life, but did not sigh.

Concealment was needed, O sky;
why did you not make the night black for the lustful one?

Thirsty-lipped, I fell so on the wine
that I never went out to the Id prayer-ground.

What, save her from my enemy, that sky
which made no plan to eclipse the moon?

Who is there to ask her why
she did not ask after the state of the plaintiff?

I had a great longing for union, and you,
O beauty, kept nothing back as far as you could.

Nothing is of use in love,
if you have not given up greed and wealth and rank.

Where has the mean one the strength? You
showed enmity to my rival, not love.

I too am not at all happy to have kept faith;
you did well not to keep yours.

Censor, this cruelty to the poor!
You never rebuked the king.

My weeping and my sighing were both without effect;
which of them did not wreck my boat?

It was in my fate to meet her little;
why did I not visit her now and then?

Seeing my enemy, that faithless one went off
and did not look at my state.

Momin, alas for that unerring mind!
It never thought of pardon for its sins.

Ghazal: My wondering eye made a spectacle of her

My wondering eye made a spectacle of her;
she went on looking at me for a long time.

Holding in my cry, though it had effect, what of it?
What courage I showed, what I did not do, what I did!

Because my eyes did not close at night, my friends
spread the talk that my eyes had fallen on someone. [TN: a pun: "the eye closes" means falling asleep, "the eye is attached" means falling in love.]

I died on her life-giving lips;
I was my own healer.

The candle of life went out in a single sigh;
my cold breath cooled me.

My rival would have resented my visiting her;
she did well to come and kill me.

Let no one look at fairy-faced ones like her;
my shame has disgraced me.

Life in parting was itself a death;
death has done the work of the Messiah.

Where is this colour in betel? You yourself
have laid claim to my blood. [TN: lips reddened by betel, as if with the lover's blood.]

If I do not complain of her cruelty, it is unjust;
my patience has given my secret away.

Nothing works out; what can one do?
Her anger has done something like this.

Your place was in my heart, and so it is;
why did you complain to my rival without cause?

The sky's pity, and on my state!
You have shown kindness, O adorner of cruelty.

Your promise may well be true, but
when did death ever promise tomorrow?

On the Day of Judgement the executioner, claiming the pains he took,
had me killed over again.

Death has hidden its face in my parting;
there, it has made its face like that veiled one's.

May the idols always remain enemies of a Momin;
this is what my name has done to me. [TN: Momin means "believer".]

Ghazal: Just look at my unfulfilled longing

Just look at my unfulfilled longing:
my rival carries my message.

My blood-stained cry is without effect;
why should my affairs not go to ruin?

From longing for union with one of fiery temper
my raw fancy has now been cooked.

See how hard I drink:
the bowl of the sky is my cup.

See the rank of lowliness:
my station is beyond even the highest heaven.

Preacher, what idol you have made me give up!
May God take my revenge on you.

If you steal hearts, being Joseph,
who then will be my slave?

My complaint is of those ruby lips;
how should my verse not be coloured?

You have disgraced me; until now
did anyone know my name?

See, I gave up my life on the idol's knee:
Momin, this is my end and conclusion.

My service was of use in the end;
did I not say, "My greetings"? Why not?

Ghazal: My hidden secret did not reach the tongues of strangers

My hidden secret did not reach the tongues of strangers:
did not even one of my letters reach my love?

God, the weakness! When in the height of anguish
I raised my head from the pillow, it did not reach the wall.

Had I wept, she would have pitied me; but before her
not one drop of blood reached my blood-shedding eye.

Do not tell the lover the good news of his enemy's killing;
it is a message of death; it has not reached the sick man.

What use is the colour of beauty without fortune? For I
was a flower, but did not reach anyone's turban.

The lover gave his life for nothing at your first words;
messenger, your account did not reach her consent.

The memory of your eyelashes was a thorn in the path again last night:
till morning sleep did not reach my wakeful eye.

My enemy's fortune, which reaches its goal, may now say what it likes:
once my love reached me, though I did not reach my love.

She never stopped her scuffling with strangers
until the shock of death reached two or four of them.

Momin, it is this that made her prefer someone else to me:
that dull mind did not reach my verses.

Ghazal: You too will weep for hours just like this

You too will weep for hours just like this,
if ever your heart too is caught somewhere as mine is.

She cannot be brought round by any trick;
there is no way of contriving to meet her.

To whom shall I compare her? For my stylish one
has a manner unlike all, a fashion newer than all.

"Die somewhere, so that you are freed from the grief of parting":
she speaks for my good, but in a bad way.

There is no strength in parting, nor rest in union;
the wretched heart has no peace in any way.

How sweet even curses sound from your mouth!
I am your sacrifice; call me that again, the same way.

I would not have been trampled by the sky's cruelty alone;
calamity came upon my life in many ways.

I cannot bring myself to go there, nor find peace without going;
what can I do? For me it is hard every way.

Tell me, there are other beloveds in the world:
who is cruel to anyone the way you are?

I am at my last breath at the hands of cruel idols;
does everyone in the world live, Momin, this way?

Ghazal: My madness was in a terrible ferment last night

My madness was in a terrible ferment last night;
I spread lancets on my bed last night.

She came here and flew into a rage last night;
it went hard with my life last night.

Till dawn I was not myself;
who knows in whose house she stayed last night?

She took it for a tale and fell asleep;
my ineffectual cry was of use last night.

Let there be no wax charm in the mirror;
now she does not sleep till dawn at night. [TN: a wax image used in magic, here imagined hidden in her mirror.]

The stars were blinking their eyes;
who was showing herself on the roof last night?

Alas, darkness has fallen on the world:
there is no sun by day, nor moon by night.

These days and nights of grief have killed me:
the night is blacker than the day.

Ah, Munkar and Nakir, why do you ask? [TN: the two angels who question the dead in the grave.]
She was angry at my rival's taunt last night.

The matter went so far that I died;
in short, death came last night.

In this house, Momin, is the joy of paradise;
who knows where is the day, or where the night?

Ghazal: Last night when you avoided my eyes in my rival's gathering

Last night when you avoided my eyes in my rival's gathering,
I was so lost that my rivals found me out.

Someone asked, "Are you dying for someone?" and my breath went out;
I left this life rein to rein with my voice.

The scent that was hidden in me like a bud spread abroad;
the gusts of the breeze made this new flower bloom.

O water of tears, just see the fiery element:
the heart itself went, if my flame-bearing breaths went.

In the gathering she gave betel with her own hand:
my rivals were green with good fortune; I swallowed poison.

In my weakness I could not bear the weight of the flower-scar of madness;
like Qarun, I too sank into the earth. [TN: Korah, swallowed by the earth with his treasure.]

Why should that veiled one not be unveiled before strangers?
My ineffectual breaths have lifted the curtain.

She suspected me of loving a houri; what could it be now,
that she came at my dying breath and showed me her face?

My rival's fortunes were bright and young;
why did I, ill-starred, please the grief of parting?

Life was wearisome, living was impossible;
she too came and kicked my corpse.

What shall I say of the preacher's talk of the sun of Doomsday?
The scenes of the night of union filled my eyes.

At the time when the lustful rivals left this land,
offended by the ill temper of my love,

I left the world itself, as soon as she said with coquetry,
"Have your evil suspicions not gone even now, or have they gone?"

O Momin, since when have you been a slave of idols?
Well, so the reverend sir too has come into our faith!