Mian Muhammad Bakhsh

(1830-1907 / Khari Sharif, Kashmir / Pakistan)

Saif-Ul-Malook 03 - Poem by Mian Muhammad Bakhsh

I should stay close to the genuine ones, I, the fake of the world,
May He cover may falseness, He always has the concern.

Whatever he gave me, so was it, the provider was one,
Whether just the bread, whether with some butter, whether delicious morsels.

Listen from the wood of the flute the pain of separation from the tree,
All are in the this same situation, Muhammad, what to say of the men.

If you are patient then you will be rewarded, the news came from the Book,
Patience opens the locks, Muhammad, from every difficult gate.

For four days is your life and youth, enjoy what you can,
Not forever will be this wealth, this world, not for ever will be the forces, armies.

The writing of fate, who can erase with scheming?
Many rulers, ministers wise this fate has destroyed.

Your time (of death) today is stil far away, you will have time to left and your young,
Do justice, and worship, at the end you will perish.

Neither is any crime scene inspection there, nor any justification or excuse,
What you do, so you will get, the Royal Justice is tough.

Gardens, spring, and rose gardens, without friends of what use?
If I meet the friend, thousands of sorrows will be gone; I will be grateful a hundred thousand times.

I fell in love with a lofty one and have found myself in deep trouble
Without friends, O Muhammad Baksh, Who can console me?

I fell in love without seeing (the beloved), and what had to happen happened,
I have forgotten laughing and playing, and now I am in a lifelong crying.

The beloved does not show the face, who will wash my stain (of dishonor)?
Leaving the door of the friend, Muhammad, What other door can I stand at?

From the friendship of the lowly, nobody has benefited,
If one grows the grape vine over a keekar tree every bunch of grapes will be injured.

The seeker ho searched genuinely never remained empty handed,
The one who returned while searching, count his search as half-hearted.

With every breath the soul comes to he lips, leaving the adobe of the body,
I am standing waiting if I can get any news of the friend.

Many swings went very high and then broke and scattered on the earth,
Girls did not return to their parents' home; they were snatched by their in-laws.

Pearls did not return to the shells, they attached to the string,
The pods perished in dust after they fell down; they did not return to the tree.

Soul is undergoing torture like a sugarcane in a crusher,
Now tell the sugarcane juice to stay in the sugarcane, Muhammad; let see how it can.

The heart which did not absorb love, dogs are better than it,
They guard the master's door, patient, hungry, naked.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, September 20, 2012

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