Love’s religion, ask what?
In temple sitting drawn ‘kashka’
‘Mir’* since long, hath given up on faith.
Majnun hath, but to the desert lost
Dust on head, door to door,
He hath, but who has gained
A loss in love, is any other win to choose?
Heaven he found, in hell’s fire if burned.
Go! Love’s fables, like distant drum
Sweeter melody, O lute! The night’s drawn:
Upon firmament’s strength, could helplessness
Be the divine’s name. Many imperfections -
Could parts be gathered in a perfect whole?
Cold and warm, dawn overturns on dusk.
Flower weep, it is not you, but someone akin,
Next spring, ye be either seed, to carry on
Essence shall then, be the existence’s secrete.
A long wait, the time’s spill is the youth’s glory
Beauty holding, a broken door to the hinge
Hold on storms; let the breeze move over-
Alas but, the fate’s tablet affront,
Exist, be marry, fasten the knot
The rope of love, thus may not slip from hand.
*Mir Taqi Mir (1723-1810) , Mughal India, a poet of Urdu language.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
November 12,2013.
Pencil Drawing by 1koolwhip @ deviant art
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem