Stay your feet, my love, to let me kiss them
With my life. O, listen to my tale of woe !
You know no kindness, pity, mercy, faith !
How strange, my sweetheart ! O, turn back
From your cruel sport of inflicting pain !
Being an artless woman, not knowing where to go,
I can do no more than nurse the pain of love.
Pouring out my woes, when we met long ago,
Made me feel so light, all anger melting away.
As modesty dictates, I confined the fire
To my bosom; but couldn't his heart soften,
Knowing what thorns I have borne ?
The dark wine cups of your eyes promised
Unearthly bliss. False hope ! Couldn't they
At least desist from slaying hearts ?
He revealed his radiant form just to show
That he could overpower running game and kill,
Like one would fell a cypress !
I can't bear the agony, and will run after my love,
Track him in every street, seek him in every shop.
Stop, Mahjoor ! Who'll read these tales of love ?
Keep love in your heart, for love is not for sale.
[Translated by: Triloki Nath Raina]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem