This is Rasul Mir, at Shahabad, Doru.
He has opened a love-kiosk.
Come ye lovers, drink free cup.
Love's fire burns me deep
...
You stay away, my angry love,
and here I sink from senses dear;
My tears flow and wash all kajal from my eyes dear
...
My heart is not the love one, caged in that love
This is way, the path through which,
not one but two worlds've gone
...
Rasuls, knows thy locks and looks
is a fine faith.
How'd he know what is kufur,
and what Islam, dear.
...
That face is the kaaba of beauty,
her lashes layered over and over.
In the path of love,
it is meet to bow to those two brows
...
Bride's robes, would suit thee well,
Ye, my beloved of short years
Thy braids of hair, thy ear rings
peep from beneath the gossamer cover
...
Come let us be friends, ye lovely beauty,
listen to my laments, oh Henzi,
come to see the mela and,
we shall roam through Telbal
...
I am all ashake, I may die
my heart's wish has seen no fulfillment
that lovely, pleasing, my heart throb
he hasn't come, ah Dear!
...
Veer-nag, I'll go to usher thee,
Thy brow I'll deck in flowers of Acha-bal
Yeh, vine I'll twins thee to my breast
come ye kasturi, don't roam the meadows free
...
Ye tulip faced, thee I'd hold
by neck to heal my pain sans thee,
Rasul the flower bed,
is a thorny seat for me
...
My wise lover is enchanted;
whence gone, how'd I know'
He is Yousef, himself is Zulaikhah;
a lover he is undo his self, my dear.
...
Don't unveil the face,
Don't glitter the scene.
Don't try to test my race,
The race not in reign.
...
O' livest in all the traglies,
gazing at red hands.
drank the cup of all woes,
keeping alive all desires.
...
When count is taken of thy braids,
lacs of fortnights it'll take.
Once begun there is no escape from there.
Lo, the gay love goes out to frolic
...
This new volume
Rasul has sung in thy pang,
who’ dare to rebut come,
hand me another cup’
...
This new volume
Rasul has sung in thy pang,
who' dare to rebut come,
hand me another cup'
...
Jasmine, Iris narcissus too,
looking at thee have withered away
Thine eyes are black, face is red
and robes are of the whitest hue
...
Loves fire bored into the poppy,
the moment they he-nnaed hands it saw.
The wild rose is nursing
its boils from burning, dear
...
Like an Ivy caught in violets,
a full moon trapped by pythons two;
or a beauty of China
wearing the sacred thread
...
Rasool Mir (Kashmiri: रसूल मिर, رسول مِر) was one of the leading Kashmiri poets of the 19th century. Was born at Dooru Shahabad, a historic town in Anantnag district of Jammu and Kashmir. He has been titled as keats of kashmir for his powerful romantic poetry but at times he mingles with mysticism. He decended from a family of zamindars who used to be village heads at Doru. Now government has laid a beautiful lawn and tomb at mir's graveyard. Rasul Mir, that skilled decanter of love, has a raging controversy shrouding his age. The local traditions recorded in 1940’s of by Ab Ahad Azad, spoke of a death in his prime. Folk history has it that, Mahmood Gani predicted his youthful death (Amis Chhi jan-h-margi handi koder). His poetry, its fervent youthfulness, its vibrant tenor, its tone of hearty yearning, its pristine emotions, all point to a poet, untouched by the cares of decaying age. Rasul Mir was said to have been alive in 1855 AD when Mahmood Gani passed away and died a few years before-Maqbool Shah Kralawari (d.1874). Accordingly his demise was reckoned between 1867-1870). Rasul Mir was thus said to have lived between 1820s and 1870s. Mr. Teng in his Kuliyati Rasul Mir, refers to a document, in revenue records at Anantnag, which bears the signature of Rasul Mir, as Nambardar and is dated 5th of April 1889. On this basis, Rasool may have lived into the last decade of 19th century.That is as close to factual certainity as researches have gotten to. For the rest, there is his poetic legacy, and, ah again oral traditions. Oral traditions say, Rasul Mir was tall, handsome fair complexioned person, and sported moustaches that tapered far into the face. He was graceful, fashionable fellow, with a youthful heart that throbbed with love, love, and lots of love. Yi chho Rasul Mir Shahabad Doo-rey Tami chho trov-mut lo-la du-kaan Yi-vu aash-qow che-vu tor-re tor-rey Mai chho moor-rey la-la-vun naar. This is Rasul Mir, at Shahabad, Doru. He has opened a love-kiosk. Come ye lovers, drink free cup. Love’s fire burns me deep Love, is the waft and whoop, the craft and creed of Rasul Mir(He lived love, sang love, and lives for his love-ful passion). Love, the first strings of human heart that present the whole universe as an undulating poem. Love is the creed, beloved is the god and lyrics rush forth in bubbling streams to worship the deity. Singing, sighing and singing again they cascade over the expanses of life, in undating it in its fervor. Ze-h posha tu-l-i maeni aashq-a mas-jid husn imam ta-th Tsa-ae bae-ng-i shu-baan mokh-ta-e da-ae Ch-e-i yous-faen-i chae-lee My Loves’ mosque, is an edifice of just two petals, Love is the preist there, Ye pearly one art the caller there, Ye, who hath the Yousef’s grace. Mir’s beloved is grace personi fied Zeh posha tu-l (two petals, mere) the being of his, object of love, is characteristic of Rasul Mir’s’ dainty love. Love, flowers, passion and fragrance, the eternal inciters of life and beauty, are a recurring motiff in his poetry.)
This Is Rasul Mir, At Shahabad, Doru.
This is Rasul Mir, at Shahabad, Doru.
He has opened a love-kiosk.
Come ye lovers, drink free cup.
Love's fire burns me deep
All poetry of Rasool Mir