Love begets a secret, love's name hidden,
On the forehead if brought, on the lips, if,
Speaks, albeit in song if be sung, in silence,
If dreams, if, with winds towards the love's
Street. If the perfume of her tresses bring,
Love be the other name to the great divine,
Bow, rise in supplication, unfulfilled desire.
Or if spread over, like rain when it falls, on,
Roofs, like hoofs of horses' gallop, bringing,
Omens from the distant traveler's lone song
And the sun when it hides and comes morn
And stars on the palm are teller of fortune.
Like in afternoon from the many story tops,
Onto the yards, adjacent where languid steps
Come to and back to the door, where, solitary
Bird has tongue, breeze whistle, choral moon,
Where hands are found wide spread, for a fill,
Where feet ache, blistered, on thirsty desert.
Dreams are relived in life, but love is a pain,
Sweet, yonder and like sandalwood burn
Is consumed to ash, delivers fine fragrance,
When he, who teaches is back on the knees
And he, who learns, is thus no more a pupil -
My grand teacher, hath thus named himself,
To disciple pupil, who taught him meanings,
And himself floats, like ‘Dali's annotated mirth.
Love begets a secret, and in secret flourish,
That what ye know, which from time descend,
And that very moment, the most unlikely one,
O child of just yester, do not give up so soon
Love's martyrs, do not embrace a life swift,
Languish, yearning rose to nightingale's lament
Or give up your long shroud of happy redeem
Discern this from that, yield no more to passion,
Congruate upon, hidden crown shines on your head.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
January 18,2016.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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