{"collection":"Islam","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/isl/zun/zun04.htm","path":"isl/zun/zun04.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/isl/zun/zun04.htm","text":"The Diwan of Zeb-un-Nissa, by Magan Lal and Jessie Duncan Westbrook, [1913]\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Athirst\n For Thy love are my body and soul;\n Like Mansur the grains of this clod,\n My body, cry out\u2014They are parts, Thou the whole,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Themselves they are God.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The waves\n Of Thy deluge of love o\u2019er the boat\n Of mortality roll;\n No Noah could lift from the deeps till it float\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My love-drown\u00e8d soul.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And now\n No more do the ready tears start\n As laments from my tongue,\n For like pearls the blood-drops that are drawn from my heart\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On my lashes are hung.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Bear thou,\n O Makhfi, with patience thy pain,\n It is endless, and leave thou the night\n Of thy passions; for then shall not Khizr attain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such a spring of delight.\nWithin us stirs the leaven of Thy love,\n As streams of water of Thy mercy run.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look from above\n And bless Mahmoud and all that he hath done.\nWhether it be in Mecca's holiest shrine,\n Or in the Temple pilgrim feet have trod,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Still Thou art mine,\n Wherever God is worshipped is my God.\nThe morning I shall greet with tears and sighs,\n And from my heart that burns with holy fire\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A breath shall rise\n To burnish thus my mirror of desire.\nGive me thy tears, O Makhfi, let them rain\n In quenching torrents on my burning heart;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So hot its pain\n At every sigh I breathe the flames outstart.\nAnd so I wait in this my sorrow's night,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until thou givest to my weary sight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thy beauty for my longing eyes' delight.\nThe world through Islam light in darkness saw\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And walked safe guided by thy Scroll of Law,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Bowing to God in hope and holy awe\u2014\nTo God, Who sinners can forgive and lead,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Inscrutable Himself, yet Who can read\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hidden heart and comprehend its need.\nO Prophet, shining like a lonely gem,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The fairest of Heaven's highest diadem,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look on men's need and intercede for them.\nThou art the veil through which the light doth shine,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nay, thou thyself the very torch divine\u2014\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Naught else behold these dazzled eyes of mine.\nNow tell me what the grain that drew the dove?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The mole it was upon a cheek so fair.\n Tell me of what was wove the net of love?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The wandering curls of the Belov\u00e8d's hair.\nThe festival of love is holden here,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The goblet passes; drink thou of this wine,\n Yea, drain it to the lees, and never fear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Intoxication that is all divine.\nHow easy \u2019tis to sigh and to complain!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All the world weeps to give its woe relief;\n But proudly in thy heart conceal thy pain,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And silent drink the poison of thy grief.\nHere is the source of light, the heavenly fount,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Here is the vision of eternal grace;\n Brighter than Moses thou, when from the Mount\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He came, God's radiance shining in his face.\nBut, Makhfi, tell me where the feast is made?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where are the merry-makers? Lo, apart,\n Here in my soul the feast of God is laid,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the hidden chambers of my heart.\nWith mine own hands the altar-fire I lit;\n As flame within a lamp my heart afire\n Glows even through the body casing it,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And burns it with desire.\nCould I my foolish heart to ashes burn\n Then might I rest, my sorrow then might cease;\n Unto the ocean of Thy love I turn\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To find within it peace.\nI sink within its waters, nor above\n Its surface can my weary limbs uplift,\n Deep-drown\u00e8d I within the sea of love\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lapped by its waves must drift.\nA wilderness this lonely heart of mine\n Till love transformed it to another guise,\n And now it shines as fair as the divine\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Gardens of Paradise.\nUnto the fields like pecking birds I go\n To gather up the ears of golden grain,\n But only tears, not corn, I gather\u2014lo,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They fall in floods like rain.\nO wise one, at the feast of love be glad,\n But careful too, and guard thy cup of wine;\n In ecstasy I drank the share I had,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Sage, take heed of thine.\nWith slumber, Makhfi, heavy are thine eyes,\n And though thy tale has not attained its close,\n So deep a languor on thy spirit lies;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Seek thou for it repose.\nI beat my flinty heart till from it flies\n The spark divine of the eternal fire,\n And from the flashing gleams I see arise\n The lightning of Thy love\u2014my heart's desire.\nCome, O ye weak in faith, for help is here,\n Behold these flashes from our hearts that fly,\n Had ye the eye of faith they would appear\n Like the white light that gleamed on Sinai.\nCome to the feast of love, for it is spread;\n Share ye the wine-cup where we drink so deep;\n Behold the wine\u2014the tears that we have shed,\n The wine-cups are our eyes that ever weep.\nBut, as we drink, upon us falls the spell,\n The dream, the vision, and the ecstasy;\n The wine of pain turns blood, nor can we tell\n If we exist, or if we cease to be.\nOfttimes my heart can sing and can rejoice,\n Pouring forth hymns throughout my rapturous days;\n Alas, that powers of evil choke my voice,\n And blast my thoughts, and burn my psalms of praise!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Behold my luckless heart,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So broken, so dissolved by pain,\n It even flows in tears between my lashes;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And yet how can I part\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With it, while still to me remain\n Its shards\u2014I wait till it is burnt to ashes.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I knew long, long ago,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Your promises were less than naught,\n I blotted them for ever from my mind.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Why was I born to know\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0An age above all others fraught\n With love ungrateful and with fate unkind?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But grasp thy joy; who knows,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Makhfi, what may to thee befall?\n The firm foundations of the earth may shake,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The breeze that blows\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0May, if this empty life be all,\n The bubble of our vain existence break.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rapturous nightingale sings,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wooing the rose\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the midst of the garden new-born:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But only the gardener knows\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of the labour that brings\n To the garden its beauty; he toiled in the heat,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And his feet\n Have been wounded by many a thorn.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Immortal is beauty, for, see,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like the sun in his might,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It illumines the worlds and all things that\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0are made\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With the joy of its light;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For this be our thanks unto Thee,\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon us Thy mercy bestow!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Consider how weak,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How afflicted we are and how sorrowful;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0then\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When we passionate seek\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For oblivion, and Thou dost know\n How time on our desolate spirit has beat\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And brought us defeat\u2014\n O save us, nor let us endure it again.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O happy the seer who knows\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Good and evil are one,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Who has learned how self-poised he may live,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Who is shaken by none,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To whom spring with its rose\n And autumn are equal:\u2014not him canst thou\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0teach\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or, careless one, preach\n To him; thou indeed hast no counsel to give.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If perilous love doth thee lead,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If thou enter his track,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the desert like Majnun thou dwell\u2019st\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0evermore,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thou shalt never look back;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor even take heed\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Makhfi, as out of the nest\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The fledgling birds fall\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And fluttering, helpless, are caught in the\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0snares,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So see after all\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thou art caught like the rest,\n For, flying too boldly, thy feeble wings fail,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And thou dost bewail\n Thy fate, thus enmeshed in the net of thy cares.\nTo the forbidden path turn not aside,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And, tyrannous Belov\u00e8d, let thine eye\n Look on thy victims trampled in thy pride,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Who for a glance from thee would gladly die.\nSome pay their worship at the Kaaba shrine,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some pray within the Temple courts apart,\n But, Makhfi, think what secret joy is thine,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To bear thine idol ever in thy heart.\nDust falls within the cup of Kaikobad\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And King Jamshid,\n Nor reeks the world if they were sad or glad,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or what they did.\nOnly to-day have we, and through the sand,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With feet that tire,\n We march, but never reach the promised land\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of heart's desire.\nI follow on where Wisdom's feet have led,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And firmly hold,\n The while this hard and thorny path I tread,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Her garment's fold.\nHow many hearts, O Love, thy sword hath slain,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And yet will slay!\n They bless thee, nor to God will they complain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At Judgment Day.\nMy heart is hot within me, yea, has burst\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In flames of love the while\n So fierce that like a drop to slake my thirst\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Were all the floods of Nile.\nSo deep in sin am I\u2014I cannot wend\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where holy pilgrims fare\n To Mecca, even if Abraham, God's friend,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Should come to lead me there.\nI tire of wisdom's kingdom which is mine,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I tire of reason's sway:\n Passion of love, O carry me to thine,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A hundred miles away.\nLo, when I come unto the water's side\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The obedient waves retire,\n My flaming heart exultantly shall guide\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like Moses' torch of fire.\nTell me, O Makhfi, is it I who sin?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is this my sin I bear?\n Is it the body's or the soul's within\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That lived and sinned elsewhere?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0See how the budding flower,\n Emerging fair from out her torn green dress,\n Is beauteous in the garden for her hour,\n As Yusuf in his youthful loveliness.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Go, breeze of spring,\n Haste to tell Yakub, blinded by his tears,\n The tidings that shall end his sorrowing\n And lift the darkness from his troubled years.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Treading love's path so long,\n Under such heavy burdens did I bow,\n At last my chastened heart has grown so strong,\n No task, no pain, can bend my spirit now.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O fortunate,\n More blessed than Alexander's lot is mine.\n Come to me, O ye thirsty: this my fate\u2014\n To know the giver of celestial wine.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This is my pride\u2014\n That I the rose of all the world have sought,\n And, still unwearied in the eager quest,\n Fainted nor failed have I, and murmured not;\n Thus is my head exalted o\u2019er the rest,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My turban glorified.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O bless\u00e8d pain,\n O precious grief I keep, and sweet unrest,\n Desire that dies not, longing past control!\n My heart is torn to pieces in my breast,\n And for the shining diamond of the soul\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I pine in vain.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Behold the light\n That from Thy torch of mercy comes to bless\n The garden of my heart, Beloved One,\n With the white radiance of its loveliness,\n Till my wall's shadow shall outvie the sun,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And seem more bright.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Makhfi sorrowing,\n Look from the valley of despair and pain;\n The breath of love like morning zephyr blows,\n Pearls from thine eyelids fall like gentle rain\n Upon the garden, summoning the rose,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Calling the spring.\nBut, Makhfi, look with a discerning eye\u2014\n Deeper than thy despair thy bliss may lie;\n Though on the path of love thy feet may tire,\n New strength shall come to thee, and new desire.\nThis mirror, my heart, is broken against my desire;\n O Heaven, give me not of your pity, nay, rather admire\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My soul that is proud;\n My head, though I beat it in sorrow, has never been bowed.\nThink not that with joy and with ease I pursue my desire;\n With heart that is weary, with footsteps that lag and that tire,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I follow my quest,\n To attain through the difficult way to the kingdom of rest.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As the long-prisoned bird,\n Forgetting that it ever flew, and heard\n Songs of the wild, and pinions wide unfurled,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Makes of the cage its world.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No fear indeed thou hast,\n O heart within the net of love held fast,\n Of separation's bitter agony\u2014\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thy love is one with thee.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sadly we wait and tire,\n And sight of the Belov\u00e8d Face desire\n In vain, till in our hearts the hope is born\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of Resurrection morn.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O heart, thine be no less\n Than the ascetic Brahman's faithfulness,\n The knotted veins his wasted body bears\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As sacred thread he wears.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Why dost thou then complain\n That on thy feet there drags this heavy chain?\n Nay, it befits thee well such weights to wear;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Much hast thou learned to bear.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As, far upon the hills,\n Despairing Ferhad, weary of life's ills,\n Welcomed kind Death, and wept, so for relief\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Weep thou and salve thy grief!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And see the thorny waste\n Whereon thy bruis\u00e8d feet their pathway traced,\n This wilderness, touched by thy blood that flows,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Blooms fragrant as the rose.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Love, shall I repine\n The noose of death around my neck to twine\n At thy behest? Nay, if thy glory gain,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Proud am I in my pain.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Makhfi, if thy fate\n Be that, without the garden, desolate\n Thou dwell\u2014reck not of it; life is a dream, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And we, that seem\n To live and move and love, no more at all\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Than shadows on a wall.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How strong thou hast become, O moth, how great,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Worshipping thus the flame! this is thy fate\u2014\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Vainly to love and die, yet thou canst bear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The burning sparks and ever scorn despair:\n Thou knowest, fluttering nearer to the fire,\n In death thou shalt be one with thy desire.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O cruel Love,\u2014when on the Judgment Day\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thy tyranny God shall in full repay,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all the blameless blood that thou hast shed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Shall be revenged upon thy haughty head:\n Black shall the place of judging be, no less\n Than Kerbela's accurs\u00e8d wilderness.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Haply indeed, O Judge, wilt thou be kind,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And pity in thy heart for sinners find;\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Think of the memory of their disgrace,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How dark humiliation stains their face,\n The shame that stings and goads them to repent\u2014\n Will these not be sufficient punishment?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within the desert of the world astray,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How many weary wanderers lose their way!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But Love with beckoning hand appears, to bless,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Finds them a pathway through the wilderness,\n And though, like Majnun, in the wild they roam,\n Leads them through toils and tribulations home.\nWherefor my tears fell down in floods like rain,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And as I sighed\n I thought of my desires unsatisfied,\n And memory summoned up with vain regret\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The garden where we met,\n But meet no more, I tell my heart with pain.\nWhat have I then to do with high estate?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fortune I lay aside\n And all wherein the world has taken pride:\n Yet in this day of my humility\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Precious to me\n As wine of kings I hold my cup of fate.\nGleaming within the garden through the night\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A radiance fair our feasting to illume;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What is this glamour shining through the gloom?\n My heart's blood, glowing, yields the heavenly light.\nO, I have drunk my cup of cherished grief,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And love the torment of my wounded heart;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As the scars heal I tear their lips apart,\n And in my pain find rapturous relief.\nWhy should I then permit the winds of care\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To ruffle thus my soul, as airs of spring\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through the Belov\u00e8d's tresses wantoning?\n For I have risen to fortune from despair.\nO fear not, if within the house of prayer\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The feeble camphor candle fails and dies;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From out the flaming furnace of my sighs\n Will rise another light, more fierce, more fair.\nA hermitage, with peace my soul to bless,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Here in a corner of the wilderness,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unseen by secular eyes shall I possess.\nWho is the man who boasts to be Love's slave,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And yet this petty life of his would save?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Poor Love, whose votaries are not more brave!\nWhen I was young I asked, and Love gainsaid;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What slips, what wanderings, on Love's road I made,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until I summoned Wisdom to my aid!\nThe mirror of my heart I burnish bright\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until, reflected fair for my delight,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The Self's eternal beauty greets my sight.\nLike Yaqub blinded by his agony,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No face in all the world is aught to me;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What use have eyes except to look on Thee?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0See, Makhfi, cruel Love,\n How in his haughtiness he rides above\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hearts of men, how red\n His sword with lovers' blood that he has shed!\nThe morning breeze that from the garden flies\n Can give no joy, no gladness, to my eyes;\n For, useless breeze, never to me he brings\n The fragrance of Thy garments on his wings.\nBut here before the garden door I wait;\n Why should I deem myself unfortunate?\n For by Thy holy threshold shall I stay,\n And with my lashes sweep its dust away.\nThis bird, my heart, is taken in Thy net\n And flutters unavailingly; but yet,\n Thy captive though it be, how canst Thou keep\n Prisoned the sighs that from my bosom leap?\nO rare and precious Ph\u0153nix of the soul,\n Vainly I sought for thee; beyond control\n My heart has yearned for thee; ever thy wings\n Have hung above my soul's imaginings.\nO bulbul, glad within the garden sing,\n \u2019Tis Makhfi who has won for thee the spring\n That blossoms in thy heart; but in her own\n The barren winds of lonely autumn moan.\nTo drink of my blood I am thirsting, to shed it\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0abroad like a sea,\n To sacrifice all am I seeking, to die as a victim\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0for Thee.\n My heart through the anguish of loving has\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0swooned \u2019neath the load of its grief,\n Come thou with thy magic, O music, and give\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0to my spirit relief.\nLike Ayub I sit in the ashes o\u2019erwhelmed by the\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0wrath of the skies,\n Yet out of the night of my sorrow shall hope\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0like the morning arise:\nYet, Makhfi, unveiled is thy secret, abroad all\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0thy passion is told:\n Who saw not the beauty of Yusuf when he in\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0the market was sold?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Forgive me then, I pray,\n That I no wine in the assembly quaffed,\n For I have drunk of a diviner draught,\n Its fragrance ever haunts me, night and day.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My heart a bird doth seem\n That never joyfully can soar and sing,\n For, shut within its cage of sorrowing,\n It sees the garden only in a dream.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Shall I not then complain\n When every atom of my body cries\n Against your tyranny, O cruel skies,\n That yield me days so dark and full of pain?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Grant me, O Fate, this boon,\n Give me a little day of joy, of spring,\n When even in its cage my heart might sing\n Glad as a bird: Death comes, thou knowest, soon.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How many, many years\n Within the prison walls of lonely grief\n Shall I remain and never know relief,\n Like Yaqub, blinded by my useless tears?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Though my proud soul\n Torn from its saddle low into the dust\n May be by cruel hands of fate downthrust,\n I know my feet will somehow reach the goal.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As through life's desert fare\n Love's pilgrims, Makhfi, may it be thy pride\n Unto Love's realm their caravan to guide,\n Thy footsteps be the bell to lead it there.\nWhat wonder if the fire within me rise\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into a flame outleaping fierce and swift,\n And that the heavy vapour of my sighs\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unto the darkened eyes of Heaven should drift!\nThink not, though at the feast no more I sit,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That I have done with joy: there still remains\n The dream that once was mine\u2014I cherish it,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like wine its memory courses in my veins.\nWhat though within this valley of Despair\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From sorrow I can never find surcease,\n May I be given, in answer to my prayer,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0One day at least of rest, one night of peace!\nSo sad my fate that, though I long and toil\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until my forces flag and faint and tire,\n I cannot burnish off the stains that soil,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rust that dims my mirror of desire.\nAnd yet, O Makhfi, if with eyes made clear,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Freed from the world's illusion, thou shalt see,\n Lo, the faquir's torn garments shall appear\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0More regal than the robes of majesty.\nAnd strange it is that even in my heart\n The sweet tormenting flame of my desire\n Is quenched; impatiently I pulled apart\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The brands and killed the fire.\nAnd never did the blossoms of success\n Within my hope's enchanted garden bloom,\n And my fair beacon-light of happiness\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Is sunk in gloom.\nFaithless Belov\u00e8d, many friends are Thine;\n So many love and have been loved by Thee,\n They give their hearts, what carest Thou for mine?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What need hast Thou of me?\nAs through the gloom the radiant sun above\n Comes brightening the world, and shades depart,\n So do I burnish with the oil of love\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rust from off my heart.\nI vainly stretch imploring hands that long\n To touch Hope's gleaming garment as she flies;\n Though my desire may fail, yet Hope is strong\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And keen, and never dies.\nWhen on the cup that held the drink divine\n Of last night's feast the light of morning falls,\n The joy of night, the magic of the wine,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The goblet's sight recalls.\nLike thee, O Ferhad, in my loneliness\n Toiling upon the mountains I have been,\n But never drank the sherbet of success,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sweet as thy lips, Shirin.\nAlthough the times on my unhappy head\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Have heaped the burdens I can hardly bear,\n I have not wept; I smile in pride instead;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon my brow are graved no lines of care.\nFor many years hath sorrow dwelt with me,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet I repine not, and so fiercely wage\n My war against despair, it turns to flee\u2014\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I am the Rustum of this later age.\nThough callous Fate upon me vengeance wreak,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O breezes blowing from the heavens above\n Bring unto me what I, like Yaqub, seek\u2014\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The perfume of the garments of my Love.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What weary days\n Are these, that never in the perfumed ways\n The bulbul sings among the cypress trees;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Only the morning breeze\n Finds entrance there, and with the roses plays.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Masiha, thou canst heal,\n Thou wise Physician, hear our heart's appeal!\n Give us the bitter draught to cure our grief,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And grant relief;\n Blame not the shrinking from thy cup we feel.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Glimmer not, pearly dawn,\n Let not the veil of night be yet withdrawn;\n I long to send, with arrows of my sighs,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unto the skies\n My eager prayers before the night be gone.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If, on the Judgment Day,\n Grieving for my transgressions, I shall pray\n For mercy for the evil I have done,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Self-Existent One,\n Grant that my tears shall wash the sin away.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Makhfi, for thy fate\n Be not thou fearful nor disconsolate;\n Higher, upon the Day of Reckoning,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Faquir than king,\n There shall be then none lowly and none great.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Knotted within my heart,\n The very chords that answered to thy touch,\n My heart-strings at thy presence thrill and start,\n For I have sighed and have lamented much.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O ye who sleep in peace,\n You know not of the troubles Love can send,\n The days whose tribulations never cease,\n The weary nights that drag without an end.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where, then, does Mecca lie?\n Here is the Kiblah where I make my prayer:\n Tell me the physic for my malady\u2014\n The anodyne for grief is everywhere.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Love, where dost thou lead,\n Upon what travel fares our caravan?\n By Hedjaz desert shall thy footsteps speed,\n The longest journey since the world began.\nThe fountain of my spirit has run dry,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So that in tears no more my sorrow flows,\n Mute is the heart that wailed continually,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silent the bulbul in the garden-close.\nHere, as we tread the pilgrim's way, we find\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The torch of inspiration like a fire,\n Men see it not, so dull they are and blind,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They yearn not for the garments of desire.\nTo each was given on the Creation-day\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His fitting portion, his appointed share,\n Why should\u2019st thou then demand from destiny\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0More joy than others have, less pain to bear?\nO Makhfi, for thy counsel all have come,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their secrets thou hast kept concealed, apart,\n But why should\u2019st thou, who for their sakes art\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0dumb,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Tell shamelessly the secrets of thy heart?\nNo unguent salves these wounds upon my heart,\n The diamond lancet's healing pang I crave,\n So keen my pain I tear my scars apart,\n Come with thy kindly cruelty, and save!\nFrom out my keeping has my heart been reft,\n Why, let it go then: wherefore should I weep?\n Over the empty hut a faquir left\n No watchman comes his careful guard to keep.\nHearken, the time of parting sounds for thee.\n How long, O Makhfi, wavering like the fire,\n A Kafir shall thy restless spirit be,\n Blown like a flame, tormented by desire?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Chide not that \u2019mongst the flowers\n The bulbul doth ecstatically sing;\n His passion, yea and his delight, are ours,\n Along the garden paths meandering.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We, by our pain made brave,\n Seek not despair nor hope; neither outlast\n Their little day. We take but what Fate gave,\n Not as Zuleikha, brooding o\u2019er the past.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O careless ones, in vain\n The treasure of your life has passed away,\n Heedless that nothing of your years remain,\n You talk like children of another day.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How vain the tears you weep!\n Your sorrow fruitless, your remorse too late;\n The threshold with your lashes wherefore sweep,\n When, Makhfi, see, the shrine is desolate?\nI have no hope, no comfort, anywhere,\n Caught by the fluttering tresses of thy hair.\nNo flower can open in my garden bed\n Until my heart's blood dyes its petals red,\nSing softly of thy love, or silent be,\n O Makhfi, lest the Hunter secretly\n Shall come and hear thy voice, and capture thee.\nNo ease, no respite anywhere\n Is now for me, for in Thy snare\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Blindly or willingly I fall,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No liberty have I at all,\n Bound by the fetters of Thy hair.\nSo many tears mine eyes have shed,\n Such streams of blood my heart has bled,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That now mine eyes can weep no more,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor can the failing fountains pour, \n For dry the source from which they fed.\nThou, Makhfi, in the burning fire\n Of love and unassuaged desire\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Tossing in wild remorse, shalt dwell;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Love's secrets weakly didst thou tell,\n So thou shalt pay with penance dire.\nThough all the day the leaping fire of sighs\n May from my fast-consuming heart arise,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Winds of mischance so blow and scatter it,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My torch is not yet lit.\nI leave the world, and to the woods I fly,\n But in the forest hunted still am I;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I seek the silence of the lake and hill,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But Love pursues me still.\nThe malady of Love has turned my brain,\n For all my life I have abode with pain;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then why should I from sorrow seek to flee?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sorrow is kin to me.\nHere in the dwelling of unhappiness,\n My silent, desolate sorrow I possess;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For how can shining love with me remain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within this house of pain?\nO Makhfi, from this goblet thou shalt gain\n No exaltation, no surcease from pain;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For tears of blood that flow from eyes grown dim\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fill it unto the brim.\nSo weary, Makhfi, are thine eyes with tears,\n Darkened the world appears,\n Nor can they tell, by grief and watching worn,\n The rosebud from the thorn.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No longer can I bear\n The separation and the bitter grief;\n Afflicted am I\u2014grant my soul relief!\n Weary and broken\u2014look on my despair!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Thou, whose praise we tell,\n Sever the tyrant bonds, give to the slave\n His freedom, save him, Lord, as Thou did\u2019st save\n Yusuf, the Moon of Canaan, from the well!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My tears fail, for they must;\n The spring that fed their fountains has run dry;\n Give me Thy peace, O Lord; for what am I?\n Only a handful of afflicted dust.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But flowers of hope return\n To bloom within my garden of desire,\n For God can call even from flames of fire\n Tulips like torches to arise and burn.\nSo much of mine own blood I shed,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So long the journeys I have done,\n So difficult the path I tread,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To catch the garment of the sun!\nNew balm within my heart is borne,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0New lightnings from my glance arise,\n Why then your anger, and the scorn\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Flashing from your narcissus eyes?\nOut of my heart you reft away\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The life, my heart from out its place\n You ravished, and I can but pray\u2014\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O lift the veil that hides your face!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Reason, that can speed\n A runner in the valley of desire,\n We need not strength like thine, for we possess\n A remedy to cure us when we tire;\n The thorns and brambles are the salves we need\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For pain and weariness.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Night after endless night\n I sat in lonely grief remembering thee;\n Tears fell into my heart disconsolate.\n How long have I, in striving to be free,\n Broken my bleeding nails, but never quite\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Untied the knot of fate!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thou shalt attain success,\n O happy lover, walking on the height;\n Thy shadow greater shall be evermore\n Than King Jamshid's, and plumes and pinions bright\n As hath the Ph\u0153nix, shall thy soul possess,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Arrogantly to soar.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0By sorrow crucified,\n A true believer lost his life for thee,\n And yet did not attain what I attain:\n This new delight which is bestowed on me\n Even the friends who travelled by my side\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Could never know nor gain.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Red with its fount of tears\n Thy rosy face doth like a tulip show,\n To tell what dreams within thy heart arise.\n My tears have washed with their unceasing flow,\n The magic cup wherein the world appears\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Displayed before mine eyes.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Behold Love's path\u2014it seems\n So long, O Makhfi; but be strong to tread\n Its toilsome way, and come, nor look behind;\n The temple where thou canst bow down thy head,\n The idol fairer than thy fairest dreams,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thou shalt desire, and find.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Though, Makhfi, God shall pardon at the last,\n The Skirt of Intercession hold within thy fingers\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0fast.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Down unto death I went,\n The Heavens upon me showered their cruel blows.\n Pity me, O ye Chosen Ones of God!\n O Enemy, when shall I gain repose,\n How long shall I groan under chastisement,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wince \u2019neath the rod?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How darkened is my fame!\n Extravagantly have I spent my store,\n And empty-handed in the market stand;\n A dervish am I, and can give no more,\n No emperor, with glory round my name\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And lavish hand.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The time of spring is past,\n The rose-leaves in the garden drift apart,\n Among the trees the bulbul sings no more.\n How long, O madness, shalt thou hold my heart?\n How long, O exaltation, shalt thou last\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now spring is o\u2019er?\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How uselessly is spent\n And cast away the treasure of my life,\n In bitter separation from my Friend!\n Surely, O cruel Heavens, might now my strife\n My grief, my pain, my weary discontent,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Attain the end!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O King, O Teacher, see\n E\u2019en in the tale of Alexander's fate,\n Most fortunate of mortals, thou canst read\n Of Dara, broken and disconsolate;\n Yea, sorrowful his shadowed history\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Appears indeed.\nIf from thy moon-like face the veil arise,\n No more will Yusuf turn regretful eyes\n Homeward to Canaan: he will only see\n Thy face, and offer all his love to thee.\nNo remedy can heal the heart's distress\n Except the vision of thy loveliness.\n Here, suffering souls, the solace that you need!\n Tear not your wounds, no longer make them bleed.\nHow difficult the hunted deer to find,\n Although his scent be left upon the wind;\n How hard to reach thee, though thine every tress\n Breathes musk of Khotan through the wilderness!\nO happy Makhfi! fortunate thy day!\n For thou at the Belov\u00e8d's feet may lay\n Thy song in homage; happier still, if thou\n Sing rapturously evermore as now!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like Khizr, strong and fair,\n Whose soul is steeped in the immortal spring,\n The well of life, thou shalt be worshipping\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With holy words of prayer.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Born to the Khalif's place,\n None other heired such high estate as thine,\n Thou hast the beauty that is all divine,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fairer than peri's grace.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From hope I turned in hate;\n No further now false hope can cozen me.\n I know the cruel Heavens conspired with thee\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To darken thus my fate.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Makhfi, thy life flows fast,\n The days from out thy hand drop evermore;\n O turn no weary traveller from thy door,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Give him what cheer thou hast.\nLet not the valley of thy love\n A place of bitter torment prove\n For dolorous souls, already worn\n By all the penance they have borne,\n Betrayed by love, and left forlorn.\nNo flower, no nightingale am I,\n So from the garden mournfully\n I go. O breezes, free to stray,\n Back to her garden find your way,\n And greeting to my Love convey.\nExiled and driven from thee I pass\n Upon my journey; like the grass\n And patient reeds I bend and shake,\n As my despairing road I take,\n Leaving the body for thy sake.\nSell not the jewel of thy soul so cheap,\n No friends can help thy heart its wealth to keep.\nO King of all the roses, be thou kind\n Unto the bulbul, whose unquiet mind\n Makes him a mad faquir in loving thee;\n For even kings who ride in majesty","title":"The Diwan of Zeb-un-Nissa: Diwan-i-Makhfi\u2014the Ghazals","type":"page"}