O Thou the beauteous lofty fort!
O ancient manse O royal court!
O land of beauteous holy dream!
Thou art a shield of mortal mort
Thou midst of ancient royal mead
A royal shade A royal hand
From centuries by majestic sky
In circles of devotees stand
The birds there singth in mirth and Glee
And doth so souls of seraph bands
In evening sing cuckoo and lark
And with them ring the mystic bells
O Tell thou Dozen lofty gates
O speak Thou stepped magic wells
Sprawling on the rocky hills
In bent of running foaming Ghaan
To save His kingly royal heart
Thy face decor by Shah Sher Khan?
Thou built on ancient Indian lands
Thou Koh e noor of Pakistan
Artistic hands of noble Turks
They measured first by indian scale
They then erected Asian king
In meadow green in heart of vale
Oh Thou largest than all the forts!
On face of Asian continent
For crowds of people everyday
Thou sing the songs of merriment
O Thou the kingly knight at Arms!
O thou guarded by heavens wall!
Thy face on hilly slope was made
By thousand hands of Todar Laal!
To crush the tribes of Potohar
Who were the lions of Indian war
O kings, Queens Of royal line
Wherest thou live?
Wherest thou go?
No grave no tomb not any shrine
Wherest tell me wherest you bow?
Thou chirp in birds in
winds that blow!
Or thou in Ghaan ' s bottoms row?
With open eyes I can see
The princess swimming in Baoli
In scented orchard royal maids
Are fixing blooms in princess braids
In castle thine now fairies dwell
They drink the water of thy wells
In horrid nights they knock at doors
And then lie on dusty floors
They wake and dance in lap of meads
In Dewy gale in morning breeze
O harken me departed souls
O ancient stones! O willow tree!
I fear the fate of Royal king
Thy kingly face who can not see
Who can not pray in Royal mosque
Who can not feel it's mirth and Glee
I fear The callous lady Death
Who in thy orchard roams so free
Thy fort is in the hand of Lord
He is the owner of this Gem
While thou and me by our heart cord
Can bow to him or sing a hymn
We are the tourists on this earth
We are a grain of desert vast
While phantoms of the days of past
Like kingly jewels all they lost
Your poetry brings freshness here, no relentless tic for tac loudly humorous ridiculousness,
Outstanding poetry, I have a very good friend in Lahore named Mashal, I know a little of the culture, this fort, is it the one with seven gates one being Azariah.?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
On this day they call basant, I'll make sure you have no wants, while my kite flies above your head, I shall drop you poems as sacred bread