Ghazals I

Ghazals I

Ghazal: The moment he looked in the mirror he went mad

The moment he looked in the mirror he went mad:
whom did he see, that from a candle he became a moth?

Luckless, we had put out the candle and gone to sleep today:
the house was lit by someone's coming.

Mad Qais teased us at first,
then little by little a friendship grew in Najd.

A hundred thousand clouds were not enough for the seal of the jar: [TN: *lak*, "a hundred thousand", also sealing-wax; the line is compressed.]
so vast has this tavern grown now.

This heart has this honour as its special distinction:
it became a Kaaba, and sometimes an idol-house.

We stole idols and brought them home to worship:
in four days the idol-house was a ruin.

Who said, seeing me, "Let me kiss his mouth"?
I was mad already, and grew madder.

The cup with which someone broke his vow of repentance a thousand times,
alas, has become an offering to repentance.

Wine came as far as the lip, turned into repentance, Riyaz,
and the cup of my life was full.

Ghazal: Once there used to come from the heart a smell of roasting kebab

Once there used to come from the heart a smell of roasting kebab:
now the furnace of wine is lit in the breast.

So red with anger is the colour of the veil:
are these threads of the veil, or angry glances?

Let no one see a glimpse of that matchless face:
the veil was settled at seventy thousand curtains.

Why worry at the Judgement about torment and reward?
This too is a party of wine and kebab.

She says the promise will surely be kept tonight:
O God, let the evening of the Day of Reckoning come soon!

Lightning is nothing for the beautiful to fear:
it is a flash of pain, a glimpse of restlessness.

Let the spring of roses be the sacrifice of those evenings and mornings:
she has picked and brought along the nights of youth.

Seeing dreams of Paradise, we remember
those drinkers' parties of kebab and wine.

They look in the mirror, looking and looking at me:
this is the praise my choice is getting.

Do not take others' burden on your head at the Judgement:
the scales of the reckoning will not bear the load of sin.

Lightning that burned Sinai, we understand you:
in you is the playfulness of someone's veil.

The bubble claims equality with the head of the one with the tilted cap:
hand of the wave, take off the bubble's cap.

She brings lightning down on Sinai with her voice alone:
let there be a question and answer with us some time.

Even so its firmness is in no harm:
the bubble's boat sails upside down in the sea.

After repentance, drinkers, it is far more than wine
if the smell of wine comes from somewhere at a distance.

A hundred Resurrections are offered every breath to the corner of the hem:
longing to see, there is no limit to restlessness.

So that I may feel a little of the bitterness of death,
let there be this much bitterness of wine in my mouth.

What are you, preachers? From the gurgle of the flask
we have heard much talk of torment and reward.

This is the effect of the round of old wine, Riyaz:
the honoured gentleman's temper is young even today.

Ghazal: I cannot even manage to long

I cannot even manage to long:
it is in the heart; it does not come to the lip.

Except the night of union, no evening
comes bringing the morning with it.

My sleep goes off to her house,
and having gone, does not come back all night.

She is cursing me; Effect,
will you not come down from the Throne?

It used to come, you of the cage:
now even the breeze does not come this way.

She stands silent before the Judge of the Resurrection:
she is so innocent she cannot speak.

It used to come at my fate sometimes:
now laughter does not come to my lips.

Hey preacher, do not frighten me so much:
does He not know how to forgive?

Until some moon-like face comes,
the moonlit night does not come to my house.

Even on the Judgement day, with stains on your skirt,
wet eye, you feel no shame?

Her waist is very delicate:
even her tress does not come down to the waist.

The mad are lost on the road of madness:
they are there, but no news comes.

Apart from your own mirror,
you see no lovely face.

Shame comes to the heart a hundred times,
yet repentance does not come to the lips.

Alas for fate, Riyaz: even friendlessness
no longer comes to my grave.

Ghazal: When you came, the thought of my sad heart came

When you came, the thought of my sad heart came:
when you reminded me, then I remembered.

Today effect came down from the Throne to the lips of the lament:
in a single sigh the infidel remembered God.

Along with your cruelty I remembered something of your kindness too:
the complaint of injustice came to my lips as a smile.

Tonight the lightning flashed some hundred times:
today the fowler came some hundred times.

The arrow came into my heart in such a strange manner
that I thought some fairy-born beloved had come.

What did you say? Say it again: whom have we forgotten?
I am the sacrifice of one who came to mind like that, forgotten.

Even the mischief of the Resurrection rose and took his troubles on itself:
with such a strange air came my inventor of cruelties.

When some gust of yours came whistling, wind of spring,
the birds of the garden started up: "The fowler's arrow has come!"

Hey, killer, it will melt to water and flow away at once
if your steel dagger comes before me.

This is the air of the garden, this the spring of the garden:
now the fowler came, now the arrow of injustice.

Such infidel faces are seen somewhere
that, seeing God-given beauty, one remembered God.

From close a half-glance, from afar long eyelashes:
the bloodletter came with new piercing lancets.

We never heard that spring had come to the garden:
or if we heard, we heard that the fowler had come.

Why are these eyes fixed on the crease of your hem?
I am the sacrifice of your modest air: did you remember the heart?

When the whim took me, I handed the nest over to the lightning,
and I flew this way, right into the fowler's palm.

When effect came at all, it came like a plaintiff,
holding the hem of the lament in its hand.

Shirin sat beating her breast for herself:
good for the axe, that it came of use to you, Farhad.

If she is so stubborn, O Lord, who will soothe her?
She is sulking over why someone came to my mind.

Every wave of his gait had the flow of a dagger:
today the executioner came to the killing ground in new style.

When I arrived, the whirlwinds rose and touched my feet:
in Najd the cry went up, "Qais's master has come!"

Hand of madness, step forward and take him in the ring of your embrace:
how pleasantly the blacksmith has come to cut the fetters!

When, frightened of the desert of calamity, I called out,
Qais called back to me, "Farhad has come!"

I am the sacrifice of the lips that are proud of their healing,
the sacrifice of the words that have learnt the executioner's ways.

The veins burst into blood when the lancet was named:
such colour came into my picture by Behzad. [TN: Behzad, the great Persian miniature painter.]

When the child of tears came and fretted in my lap, Riyaz,
I remembered my late heart very much today.

Ghazal: The enemy has gone to sleep by your side

The enemy has gone to sleep by your side:
go; what was to happen has happened.

Fate is laughing: let it laugh with her:
O heart, I have finished weeping for my heart.

Where did I lay my hand while she slept?
She said crossly, "Now I am asleep."

We should have come to the Judgement earlier:
when did we come? When the show was over.

What thorns this heart has given me!
For my part it too has turned to thorns.

Now let the storm of tears lessen as it will:
I have washed away the writing of my fate.

The turban was pawned for wine and sold:
the load came off the head; the quarrel is settled.

Who will ask about repentance of sin now?
All the wealth I had gathered I have lost. [TN: that is, my store of sins, now repented.]

When did the sun of the Judgement shine, Riyaz?
When I had washed the wine stains from my skirt.

Ghazal: The bottle that came down from heaven yesterday, shaikh

The bottle that came down from heaven yesterday, shaikh,
just lift it from the niche of the Kaaba and bring it.

Qais, room will be found in Laila's heart:
just lift the forest of Najd on your head today and bring it.

The stain on the pilgrim's robe must be washed first thing in the morning:
shaikh, just lift the water-skin from your cell and bring it.

I too was waiting for the cloud to come before I drank:
cupbearer, if it is true that a cloud has risen, bring it.

They will see that fine style, how the hearts are set in it:
goldsmith, the new amulet you have made, just pick it up and bring it.

Shaikh, there is a rose-coloured flask like a flower in the Kaaba's niche:
you will get the fruit of this work: just lift it and bring it.

Let this dark night of separation become day, my friend:
the torch by which Sinai was lit, just lift it and bring it.

Drinker, I will stretch it out and use it as a cloud:
just pick up the blanket of me, a drunken beggar, and bring it.

Shaikh, at the hour of breaking the fast, from the table to the floor
just lift a flower to drink and some fruit to eat, and bring it. [TN: "flower" is likely a flask of wine.]

Let the counsellor's mouth be shut; let me give him a taste of the wine of Paradise:
cupbearer, just lift Riyaz's bottle and bring it.

Ghazal: I am in love with that beauty, mad for that beauty

I am in love with that beauty, mad for that beauty,
where every rose is a nightingale, every candle a moth.

Stones fall on both, be it the Kaaba or the idol-house:
far better than both is the madman's permit.

He says, "I am Laila": what kind of madman is this?
Now friendship with Qais will not last two days.

Be it Kaaba or church, the heart or the idol-house,
wherever your radiance is, that dwelling flourishes.

My heart is small, my heart is broken:
in form a cup, in breadth a tavern.

This flame is lit from the heart, a glow the size of a mote:
let your reflection fall on it, radiance of the beloved.

The stranger is a kinsman; the heart is a house of mirrors:
it is the Kaaba of the Kaaba, the idol-house of the idol-house.

That is the height of madness, love that knows reason:
the wise man is mad, the madman is wise.

Both Farhad and Majnun touch my feet:
let no one be as mad as this in love.

We remembered our broken repentance too, very much,
whenever we saw a broken cup somewhere.

Fairy of the glass, what a world of beauty is in you!
Even without the cupbearer, this house is a fairy's house.

"Let some generous giver give; the tavern is a great house":
so some drunkard comes calling at night.

Among the people gone astray Riyaz is the best of all:
his gait is drunken, his talk a drinker's.

Ghazal: What all does not happen in this love that breeds madness

What all does not happen in this love that breeds madness?
He is the madman who does not become Laila from being Qais.

No Resurrection is yet taking place at the grave:
now that you have come, stay; no one is coming to life.

How can I say beauty does not intoxicate?
It does, a great deal, but not this much.

Say anything and she bows her neck, abashed:
now not even by mistake is there a promise for tomorrow.

She rubs her hands together, and her fingertips turn red: [TN: the text reads *dil*, "heart", probably for *dast*, "hands".]
she is very delicate; there is no blood of longing on them.

The bitterness of repentance gives us the taste of wine
when the cup of wine is not in our hand.

On the Judgement day she kicked the slain a hundred times:
some life seems to come into him; he does not come alive.

Longing said, when she stopped at the door of the heart,
"The house is yours; there is no veil from you."

Those who give the arrows room in their breast,
my life, have no hearts.

Shall I lift my feet from the desert toward home? Nonsense!
The blister of the foot is not to be parted from the thorn.

Those are seen sitting in your lane
who have no home anywhere in the world.

Why bear the pain of the death throes in separation?
Riyaz, you cannot even manage to die.

Ghazal: Ah, the swelling! Ah, the time of growing up

Ah, the swelling! Ah, the time of growing up!
Yesterday on the roof, today she means for the sky.

Weeping for my own life is written in my fate:
no complaint of you, no grievance against heaven.

Even in the market she walks looking at the roofs:
when she buys, it is from a high shop.

This too is God's glory, that we have become such
that even the shadow of your house runs from us.

Why are you calling the grief-stricken heart bad?
Why are you bringing down the curse of a dumb creature?

What tongue will the preacher open in the tavern?
We know him well; he is a [illegible] of the stall. [TN: the phrase *tara hai than ka* is obscure.]

We do not even suck the moist lip of the wine cup:
we have got the taste of your tongue.

I may set out to tell the heart's story, as a way of speaking:
who will believe what I tell?

You said, "May you be fated to spit blood":
did you ever give me even a piece of betel?

Shall I take her up to the roof or not?
The colour of the sky is much changed.

Perhaps you have not heard the tale of Qais:
that too is one piece of my story.

Now let someone split his breast and keep it to make a heart:
one of the drops from her ear has fallen.

When the rival came, there was great fun for a long time:
I had put on the disguise of your doorkeeper.

The world's eyes are falling on Riyaz:
what a fine young man, of what style and bearing!

Ghazal: In love the burning caused by idols cannot be seen

In love the burning caused by idols cannot be seen:
this fire is such that it cannot become smoke.

Can a piece of the heart not become a tongue?
Can blood not fly up and become the colour of lament?

You who played freely in the radiance of Sinai,
can the heart not become a house of solitude?

Even the lip of a broken cup is the Eid moon to me:
cupbearer, this cannot be the new moon of Ramazan.

The bodice is bursting at the seams with youth: [TN: *mahram*, a bodice.]
these are days when no one can keep watch.

You go there like a storm, sigh that reaches your mark:
can the running tear not become a running flood?

Let it be another day and another place, Judge of the Resurrection:
justice for the beautiful cannot be done here.

The madman of Laila had no business with Laila:
it is some other calamity; it cannot be mere palpitation.

Whatever price youth's beauty fetches is too little:
this bargain can in no way be dear.

How do idol-houses become mosques,
when the song of the conch cannot become the call to prayer?

The nightingales copy the style of madmen:
in the madman this colour of lament cannot be.

This is a torment on my life all eight watches:
nothing can be such a plague on life as the heart.

The pleasures of old age, childhood and youth are something else:
there can be no other world like this world.

All the moon and stars of the sky have changed:
those nights of union, that scene, cannot be.

Riyaz, you may make yourself Farhad and Qais if you like:
these are made-up words; this cannot be palpitation.

Ghazal: While they are there, who would look at the quarrel of eye and heart

While they are there, who would look at the quarrel of eye and heart?
What a quarrel has fallen between the two from excess of envy!

Paint an album of her gathering, Mani, but
in that album spoil the rival's face a little. [TN: Mani, the legendary painter.]

Since you bent, the beautiful have bent to take hearts:
cruel one, do not spoil the bargain by setting the price low.

Let the daughter of the vine not loathe you, seeing your face:
hey ascetic, do not screw up your mouth so much at wine's bitterness.

Yes, shaikh of the Kaaba, that same will become the Kaaba again:
first draw the plan of the idol-house, then spoil the plan.

If there is a bond with the rose-cheeked, there is pleasure in everything:
what pretence, what drawing away, what fondness, what quarrel!

You yourself may come to pity my wretched state:
you who made me, spoil me this much.

Whoever they are, infidels or men of God, Riyaz,
in a life of four days, why quarrel with anyone?

Ghazal: O God, may my blood be of use to her

O God, may my blood be of use to her:
if the hand is coloured in blood, let the scent of henna come.

Whether the sick man comes to his senses or not, let him come:
if you do not come, let the scent of your tresses come.

There was no answer to my love's rebuke but this:
when we came, we came face to face, holding a mirror.

Moses, if you get to talk with Him on Sinai,
mention me too, with your tongue, not your lips.

Do not lie that "we will come tomorrow from the evening";
do not swear, you liar, if you ever come.

Prayers will be said on the hem of the daughter of the vine:
whoever comes to our gathering, let him come with ablution made.

If ever, after repentance, we have asked for them,
the jars and pitchers have come to us very full.

Those who were to come down have not yet come down from the roof:
those who were to writhe have writhed and touched the sky.

She is so touchy at the strength of the rose's scent:
breeze, tell it to come a little lighter.

Let the nights of union be sacrificed to that one hour
when we are waiting for you, and you come.

She knows her name has got about:
why should the beauty come face to face with me at the Judgement?

If someone opens up, let there be open talk with him:
if shyness lifts, there would be some pleasure in talk.

When I reminded her of her promises, she said crossly,
"Here is another, come to take my honour at the Judgement!"

Let what was drunk long ago be of use today on the Judgement day:
let the wine-drinker come before God red-faced. [TN: *surkh-ru*, "red-faced", means "honoured".]

Riyaz, since a return of youth was in our fate,
we came to Lucknow in our old age to become young.

Ghazal: Others sitting in the tavern were not made out to be thieves

Others sitting in the tavern were not made out to be thieves:
we are the ones caught for nothing, though we went nowhere and came from nowhere.

Will your playfulness have me removed from the gathering?
It could not even lift the curtains of shyness.

Captivity in song, on top of captivity in the cage:
we could not even make the fowler hear our laments.

Your mercy drew a veil over my sins:
those angels could not hide my faults.

What pleasure did I not find in Paradise? And yet
my heart could not forget the pleasures of the world.

When I set off toward the grave I did not turn to look at the house:
I sulked so that no one could coax me back.

Knowing whose sinners we were,
we did not go to the Judgement with our eyes lowered.

You would come to no harm from the rival's burning:
why could you not sit apart and set fires?

No one at the Judgement was deprived of the sight:
only we could not be raised from the grave today.

Who saw us in the lane of the beautiful, Riyaz?
We got a bad name for nothing; we went nowhere and came from nowhere.

Ghazal: If there is a grievance against someone on her lips

If there is a grievance against someone on her lips,
then even someone's unjust complaint is just.

The beautiful at the Judgement are hanging their heads:
today someone's promise has been kept.

That youth is very proudly raising its head:
someone's bodice-strings are very tight.

She herself wants someone to tease her now:
someone's teasing has given her pleasure.

If our insolent hands are safe,
then even someone's false promise is kept.

Why should she rise from her solitude and come to the gathering?
What does she know of what someone wants?

If I made her my God, still she would not be mine:
has any of the idols ever been anyone's?

Someone has come right into my lap with a jingle,
whenever the thought of someone has taken hold of us.

Riyaz is drunk in a different colour now:
I hear he has drunk someone's cup.

Ghazal: The heart's word came to the tongue

The heart's word came to the tongue:
now calamity has come upon my life.

Why did longing come to the tongue?
Her tress flew up and came to her ear.

As soon as it was drawn it vanished, wine-seller:
when did the strong wine ever reach the shop? [TN: the couplet is obscure.]

From her roof the sigh rose higher:
now calamity has come upon the sky.

When the angels spelt out the charges,
she laughed at what they said.

Whenever some calamity left the sky,
it came straight to my house.

As the rival's accomplice the secret was kept:
the whole matter fell on the doorkeeper.

The flood of tears cannot be held back:
now ruin has come upon the house.

The bottle too came from the tavern, Riyaz,
when the cloud came over the sky.

Ghazal: The rival is up on the roof, I am at the threshold

The rival is up on the roof, I am at the threshold:
whomever you like, sir, you may raise to the sky.

Why did the luckless sigh go up to the sky?
Let the sky not fall upon my life.

Disgraces go with her, though she hides a thousand ways:
hundreds of heads are bowed at every footprint.

It must come, however many the precautions:
her sleep is in love with my story.

That infidel was a confidant of beauty who said,
"Let the beloved not bring the heart's word to the tongue."

I went into her lane at night in such a style
that the doorkeepers, startled, fell on one another.

My love's slender sword, is it dipped in poison?
It has taken poison to try me.

With playfulness she becomes both sun and moon:
your footprints are even on the sky.

Has forcing ever worked, even in private?
On what assumption did you rise up so stiffly?

The mention of pure wine set me writhing, Riyaz: [TN: *mai-e tahur*, the "pure drink" of Paradise.]
I had to go to some high shop.

Ghazal: With what glory she has come onto the roof today

With what glory she has come onto the roof today!
You have gone higher than the sky today.

When I said, "I am weary of my life today,"
she said, "Let me make you happy with a test today."

In what a delightful wind there is intoxication!
It has rained from the sky somewhere today.

Let no one be informal with her:
she sits like a guest today.

When I teased her, with what grace she said,
"Will you hear something from my tongue today?"

Like pieces of the heart we picked up
a few pieces of the heart's story today.

The lowered beard saved our honour: [TN: a shaved or lowered beard, perhaps a disguise; the line is obscure.]
we drank on credit at a shop today.

The ones who sit on high roofs
were talking with the sky today.

The weak heart's, the speechless heart's tale
you have heard with your own ears today.

Let someone go and talk sense to Riyaz:
she is a little weary of her life today.

Ghazal: Who knows what the idols take themselves for

Who knows what the idols take themselves for?
My God understand them: they think themselves God.

They understand the grace of the one who knows their graces,
for they understand my wish without my saying.

Those who understand understand your grace:
it is something else that everyone takes for death.

Let no one name the sky before her:
she takes the mention of it as a complaint against herself.

By your head, I swear I did not know
that you too understood the ways and rites of faithfulness.

What a Resurrection is this playfulness of the beautiful too!
They take the night of union for the Day of Requital.

These are the days of youth; what can anyone tell them?
As yet they understand nothing of good and bad.

Those lost in you have a strange creed:
whatever robber they meet, they take for a guide.

On the night of union she said to my companion,
"This is the very one who thinks me faithless."

God grant that I meet them sometime at the right moment,
these very beauties who think me pious.

We have the right to go on kissing your mouth too,
for we take your unjust complaint as just.

Do not forbid us wine and the beloved, preacher,
for in youth we think everything allowed.

God's glory! these who sit on roofs
now think our sigh does not reach its mark.

Riyaz is beside himself in love of infidel idols:
the fun is, they think him pious.

Ghazal: What we call the hereafter is a thought gone astray

What we call the hereafter is a thought gone astray;
what we call the world is a half-forgotten dream.

If anyone would look on the night of separation, I would show
that scar on my heart which you might call a piece of the moon.

The longing for that tyrant has taken its place
like a thorn hidden in the heart, as you might call it.

What judgement have these gazers into mirrors?
That beauty is good whom we call good.

In the garden there is a flower whose name is wine;
O ascetic, it is that cool garden which you call the flask.

She does not know how long the Day of Resurrection is:
she has made a promise one might call "a promise for tomorrow".

Even if it is gained, nothing is gained:
what we call the world is a thing not to be trusted.

Let there be at least this much bloom in your sermon, preacher,
that we drunkards, hearing it, might call it the gurgle of the flask.

Going among the people of the Sanctuary, today he became the shaikh of the age,
the infidel Riyaz, whom one might call the elder of the church.

Ghazal: We would have voiced our longing deep behind a veil

We would have voiced our longing deep behind a veil;
our glances say, "We would have spoken with her."

If, Saqi, we had made our ablution with pure wine,
the people of the Sanctuary would have circled the vat and the jug.

Rubbing it with her hennaed hand she would have turned the heart to blood;
we would have longed, if only the fair one shed the blood of longing.

How would the enemy's web of lies have come to light?
Even if the veil were torn, she would have mended it.

We would have brought her down from the roof of Sinai into the heart,
had we commanded that manner of speech. [TN: an allusion to Moses at Mount Sinai.]

Why did she fear that henna would come mixed among my flowers?
These flowers would have longed for colour and scent, nothing more. [TN: the couplet is obscure.]

Kalim would not have fainted, nor would Sinai have burned, [TN: *Kalim*, "the one spoken to", is Moses.]
had he voiced his longing in a lowered voice.

If we had found a vessel of water in the tavern,
we would pray in the Ka'ba and do our ablutions here.

If in the month of fasting we found a chance at night,
we would empty the vat and the jug in one breath.

As soon as they drank they were bound to fall in prostration;
the wine-drinkers would have done this sitting, facing the qibla.

From every drop, Riyaz, a stream of wine would have flowed
if after drinking we had ever made our ablution at Zamzam. [TN: Zamzam, the sacred well at Mecca.]

Ghazal: Let it wear itself out, the turning of the sky, a little longer

Let it wear itself out, the turning of the sky, a little longer:
after all, how long can the turning of fate go on?

So great is this heart's restlessness
that it is I, only I, from earth to sky.

At the moment of promise even a "yes" is a burden to her:
the tongue tires, O silent one, even over that.

In the end I had to drink those tears
that would have filled the space from earth to sky.

One flies up a hundred times, settles a hundred times:
that is how we came from the cage to the nest.

Was my complaint someone's secret, too,
that it came as far as my tongue and stopped?

If my wings and feathers are whole,
the cage itself will fly as far as the nest.

Why should my wakeful nights go to waste?
Carry them to the eyes of the watchman.

She cut my words in such a way
that even my tongue was cut to pieces.

We will not fall short in madness
as far as our hand will reach.

O God, let my prostrations, from far away,
reach someone's threshold.

The stranded would have had some support
if they had reached the dust of the caravan.

Hearing my lament, she will keep silent,
yet she will carry it to the sky.

Leave my bitter wine to me alone:
its taste reaches no further than my tongue.

Both church and Sanctuary are full of life,
as far as my conch and my call to prayer.

Such is my bond with the hunter
that it is I, only I, from cage to nest.

Let those who go there kick us aside as they go:
that way we will reach the threshold anyway.

Besides my sins, two angels as well: [TN: the two recording angels on the shoulders.]
O Lord, how long must I go about loaded with them?

O Lord, if I reach the tavern,
even the Magian elder will draw my water. [TN: *pir-e mughan*, the Magian elder, keeper of the tavern.]

May she grow used to my enemy's laments,
she who will not hear a single word of a story.

Riyaz, there is still time before she comes:
come, let us pay a visit to sudden death.

Ghazal: There was something in the ablution vessel: did you drink it, sir

There was something in the ablution vessel: did you drink it, sir?
O Shaikh, who else is here? Am I the thief, or you?

Did the double tress fall on the heads of madmen by itself?
She went and brought trouble on herself, embracing it.

Laughing and laughing, you curse me for nothing;
weeping and weeping, you will pray for me yourself.

Even if we flew, we would not fly off with the cage:
the hunter flew off with the cage toward the garden himself.

Those who could not rise rose and went into the grave;
now stay at home yourself, with henna as your excuse. [TN: fresh henna on the hands was a conventional excuse for not going out.]

We drunkards never rise and leave the Sanctuary:
the senses-stealing wine comes flying here by itself.

Why did the wretch's eyes turn up at the last breath?
You had great hopes of faithfulness from the rival.

My voice is hoarse, O reverend ascetic:
why do you squeeze your own throat today for the call to prayer?

There was only a light cover over the hunter's cage;
there was nothing else in the way: the breeze was held back from me by itself.

The glances say, "We will bring her down into the heart:
if only you would come to the edge of the roof for a moment."

The surge of youth is not in your control either:
untouched, the fastenings of your robe break of themselves.

You are very cautious in youth, Riyaz:
in old age you will taste the pleasures of youth yourself.

Ghazal: It is strong to drink; it will go down easier for me

It is strong to drink; it will go down easier for me:
from your Zamzam flask, ascetic, give me a little water. [TN: *zamzami*, a flask of water from the well of Zamzam.]

Look, she is delicate, young and innocent too:
since evening her naivety has been coaxing me.

When you came undone at the meeting, O beloved's tress, things went wrong:
you are a little distraught, and I am a little distraught.

They lifted their hands and stopped, lowered their eyes and stopped,
when the bareness of the naked sword pleased me.

I have become a mirror, O flashes of the lightning of Sinai:
I have received her mirror's amazement.

Call him a doorkeeper if you like, I have no objection:
hand your house to the rival, and your guarding to me.

I weep hard in the desert, clinging to the whirlwinds,
when I remember the desolation of my own house.

In the season of roses the youth of the vine's daughter has bloomed: [TN: *dukht-e raz*, "daughter of the vine", is wine.]
this tipsy one comes and teases me at night.

Her budding youth spoke up: "I will not be held down by anyone:
now, my lord, hand your guarding to me."

When did the state of a torn hem stay a sealed secret?
O breeze, do not show me your chaste hem. [TN: a pun on *pak-damani*, "clean hem", meaning chastity.]

Alas my luck! what a knot has fallen into my fate:
ease itself looks to me like a hard knot.

Where now in my fate are draughts of honey and milk?
I remember an abundance of something.

A merciful glance, O Saqi of Kausar, for now I am not given [TN: Kausar, the fountain of Paradise; its Saqi is Ali.]
water even in the name of the thirsty ones of Karbala.

Apart from the king of the age, His Highness Hamid Ali Khan, [TN: Hamid Ali Khan, Nawab of Rampur, the poet's patron.]
who is there whose favour could bring me ease?

May wealth and fortune grow day by day,
and may I be given the doorkeeping of the house of fortune.

He wants Riyaz to look better than Qais: [TN: Qais is Majnun, the mad lover.]
I am already made; why, Mani, do you go on painting me? [TN: Mani, the legendary painter.]

Ghazal: My life will leave me, my love, with great difficulty

My life will leave me, my love, with great difficulty;
my difficulty will become easy with great difficulty.

She stayed at my house as a guest with great difficulty;
last night my longings were fulfilled with great difficulty.

Eyes rubbed against soles, feet taken onto the eyes:
the watchman came round with great difficulty.

Lifting the betel roll was very hard for her: [TN: *gilauri*, a folded betel-leaf roll.]
she gave the paan from her delicate hand with great difficulty.

Today again the doorkeeper stepped up and seized my hem;
yesterday I had freed my collar with great difficulty.

I told the whole story of saving her from bad company;
today she acknowledged my favour with great difficulty.

At the Resurrection she will call cruelty kindness:
she will repent of her tyranny with great difficulty.

Let him be an infidel who goes tomorrow to the temple of idols,
for my faith was saved today with great difficulty.

When I wanted to keep them in my breast they would not stay:
your arrowheads stayed in my heart with great difficulty.

The goal is still far off, black leagues away;
a little of the wilderness has been crossed with great difficulty.

She agrees with difficulty to the hardest thing,
and sometimes to the easiest with great difficulty.

At the last gasp the wine went down my throat haltingly:
just now the difficulty became easy with great difficulty.

Without a night of union these airs do not appear:
the tress comes undone with great difficulty.

It was the edge of a sword, not a narrow path: [TN: the *pul-e sirat*, the bridge over Hell said to be finer than a sword's edge.]
the plain of Resurrection was reached with great difficulty.

Humans remain like this, playing angels:
humans become men with great difficulty.

They had sunk so deep into the slaughtered heart
that the arrowheads came out, broken, with great difficulty.

If you keep this very manner, this very style, Riyaz,
people will take you for a Muslim with great difficulty.

Ghazal: We are not ones to leave, nor ones to come into that lane

We are not ones to leave, nor ones to come into that lane;
fine people you are, who come to drive us mad!

May you be safe, you who come down into my heart;
I am your sacrifice, you who fill my eyes.

We alone, to take revenge on a hundred thousand beauties;
one heart, and a hundred thousand beauties to torment it.

Whenever Khizr met us, he met us in the same fashion: [TN: Khizr, the immortal guide of travellers.]
ah, what people they are, these men of former times!

When have I seen heart and liver pierced by the arrows of your lashes?
Your darts only fly without feathers. [TN: *be-par ki urana*, "to fly featherless", also means to tell tall tales.]

The night of union became the Day of Resurrection for me:
today I met all my tormentors.

The coquettish glance is on that side, the longing glance on this:
we are the ones who set lightning against lightning.

This henna will bind your hands if pity comes;
how will those who put out fires put out this one?

Under the weight of my sins four others were crushed with me:
alas, the bearers of my bier were pressed down.

With company went all those words and stories:
there are none left to listen, none to tell tales.

You felt no pity for my youth on the night of union, Riyaz:
ah, you heartless tormentor of beauties!

Ghazal: Ever since it was made forbidden

Ever since it was made forbidden,
wine has taken up residence in Paradise.

The day of union is in her control:
whenever she comes, evening has come.

The garden's misfortune is that the nightingale
has gone under the net of its own accord.

Repentance lowered its worth and price:
wine has come down to cost price.

Doomsday comes into that lane
and is trampled by her gait.

Our bottle is better than our repentance:
when it breaks, it becomes a cup.

Grape wine was no poison:
what sort of thing has become forbidden!

That sigh which never came as far as the lips
has risen as high as the roof.

Wine-drinkers they surely are, those unworthy ones
for whom it has become forbidden.

The candle on the grave, going out and lighting again,
burning and burning, has burned away.

Let it come to whoever comes to me:
death has become her message.

At every word there is abuse on her lips:
now it has become elegance of speech.

In the Sanctuary my head bows toward Taiba: [TN: Taiba is Medina.]
it has become something of a habit of greeting.

The wealth of the heart is safe from you idols:
it has been dedicated to God.

Circling and circling, the glance has been sacrificed,
and has settled at last on the line of the cup.

The goal is still far off, Riyaz:
the day is over, evening has come.

Ghazal: Do not make a name for yourself in cruelty like the sky

Do not make a name for yourself in cruelty like the sky:
a hundred thousand tongues will open, like my tongue.

Let someone deceive "effect" the way my lament does:
it carves out phrases like your tongue.

Whose wall's shadow is this that has crushed me?
Who is this that has fallen on me like the sky?

Her coquettish darts will surely bring some disaster:
the corners of her brows are drawn like a stiff bow.

The road of life passed in such a way that, rising and rising,
I sank and sank again, like the dust of a caravan.

I am like a bird of fragrance; bud and rose
are like my cage, and like my nest.

I did not leave your door though I was kicked by you:
I stayed fixed right there like the threshold stone.

Only this much tie with home is left to me now:
if I ever come, it is for two days, like a guest.

When I went to the garden, the branches bowed low to meet me:
the roses took me in like my own nest.

It is a calamity; do not think the arrowhead a small thing:
it will drink our blood like a hidden grief.

This slight life has a hundred thousand fears:
may the garden not turn colour somewhere like the sky.

Why do you frighten me against coming to your house?
The rival's footprints are like the watchman's eyes. [TN: the Wikisource text repeats words in this line ("chashm qadam chashm"); translated from the evident sense.]

Far from sharing pain, they are a cause of torment,
those people with whom the bond was like body and soul.

My calamity of love will give you some pleasure too:
listen to it here and there, like a story.

O God, may my cage never be empty,
for I found peace in it as in a nest.

Youth killed me, becoming a curse on my life:
spring came into my garden like autumn.

What pleasures I have enjoyed in the cage!
The hunter looked after me like a gardener.

No one found peace from the killer's playfulness:
even the dead writhe like the half-dead.

May your growth increase like the Resurrection;
may your youth grow like everlasting life.

If someone comes to his own house, who gives trouble?
Who are these stars that sit there like guests?

Riyaz, we accept death on this condition:
that the earth not torment us after death as the sky did.