My Beloved May Be With His Friends Poem by Ghulam Ahmad Mahjoor

My beloved may be with his friends
In shalamar, showering his radiance
On lawns and waterfalls.

I'd pour out my heart but dare not,
For as he ever does, he may twist my words
As subtle hints to prove that I am false.

Superb artist ! I found him resting
At a spring of pearls -
Perhaps he was threading them for belles
As beautiful as pearls !

Love's clear call rings in the woods,
Reverberates in hill and dale;
Perhaps it's the same call that makes
The streams and rivulets roar.

Vernal green fills the world;
All flowers are in bloom,
May be, Spring has also made
The flower in my garden bloom.

Lulling me to sleep, he left,
Perhaps to roam in the hills,
Maybe he is, like the moon,
Studding the stars with gems.

I roamed in many a market,
And asked all the merchants
If love was on display there
An an article for sale.

Great anxiety fills the hearts
Of yemberzal and hyacinth
That the lover of flowers may be now
In dalliance with roses !

Mahjoor's heart is always full
Of the lofty flights of love.
And maybe it's the fire of love
That has burnt his house and home!

[Translated by: Triloki Nath Raina]