Infidel of Love

Posted on April 24, 2015 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Shabistari

If a Muslim were to know what an idol is

He would know that religion is idol-worship

And if the associator (mushrik) were to know what an idol is

Where would he have gone wrong in his religion?

Original:

مسلمان گر بدانستی که بت چیست

بدانستی که دین در بت‌پرستی است

وگر مشرک ز بت آگاه گشتی

کجا در دین خود گمراه گشتی

treescreen

Amir Khusro
Translation:

I am an infidel of love: the creed of Muslims I do not need;
Every vein of mine has become taunt like a wire,
the (Christian/Magian) girdle I do not need.
Leave my bedside, you ignorant physician!
The only cure for the patient of love is the sight of his beloved –
other than this, no medicine does he need.
If there be no pilot in our boat, let there be none:
We have God in our midst: the sea we do not need.
The people of the world say that Khusrau worships idols.
So he does, so he does; the world he does not need.

Transliteration :

Kafir-e-ishqam musalmani mara darkaar neest
Har rag-e mun taar gashta hajat-e zunnaar neest;
Az sar-e baaleen-e mun bar khez ay naadaan tabeeb
Dard mand-e ishq ra daroo bajuz deedaar neest;
Nakhuda dar kashti-e maagar nabashad go mubaash
Makhuda daareem mara nakhuda darkaar neest;
Khalq mi goyad ki Khusrau but parasti mi kunad
Aarey aarey mi kunam ba khalq mara kaar neest.

Original:

کافر عشقم، مسلمانی مرا در کار نیست
ہر رگ من تار گشتہ، حاجت زُنار نیست
از سر بالین من برخیز ای نادان طبیب
دردمند عشق را دارو بہ جز دیدار نیست
ناخدا بر کشتی ما گر نباشد، گو مباش
ما خدا داریم ما را ناخدا در کار نیست
خلق می‌گوید کہ خسرو بت‌پرستی می‌کند
آری! آری! می‌کنم! با خلق ما را کار نیست

Translation:

Every sect has a faith, a direction (Qibla) to which they turn,
I have turned my face towards the crooked cap (of Nizamudin Awlyia)
The whole world worships something or the other,
Some look for God in Mecca, while some go to Kashi (Benaras),
So why can’t I, Oh wise ones, fall at my beloved’s feet?
Every sect has a faith, a Qibla.

Original:

Transliteration:

Har qaum raast raahay, deen-e wa qibla gaahay,
Mun qibla raast kardam, bar samt kajkulaahay.
Sansaar har ko poojay, kul ko jagat sarahay,
Makkay mein koyi dhoondhay, Kaashi ko koi jaaye,
Guyyian main apnay pi kay payyan padun na kaahay.
Har qaum raast raahay, deen-e wa qibla gaahay…

Hafez in qawwal

Posted on April 24, 2015 by sulaymanibnqiddees

This ghazal, attributed to Hafez, is probably not by him, but is still beautiful nonetheless.

Translation:

I saw Beloved in the Stranger
I saw a Flower in the Ash

The one the Preacher so tried to hide
I saw that Beloved in the square.

In every direction, the splendor of Beloved, I see
In every thing, the beauty of my Love, I see

I don’t see anything without It
But in every corner and bazaar, Love I see

My selfhood does not belong to me
My own beauty as Beloved’s beauty, I see

The prayer of the ascetic is on mihrab and minbar
The prayer of the Lovers on the gallows, I see

So suddenly your righteousness is gone Hāfez
Now reason and intellect as useless, I see.

Orginal:

بہ هر سو جلوہ دلدار دیدم
بہ هر چیز جمال یار دیدم

نديدم هيچ شي را خالي از او

پر از او كوچه و بازار ديدم

چو خود را بنگرم دیدم همون است

جمالی خود جمالی یار دیدم

نماز زاهدان محراب و منبر

نماز عاشقان بر دار دیدمم

جو يك رسيد از غيب حافظ

همه عقل و خرد بكار ديدم

Yoruba poetry in praise of Olodumare

Posted on April 23, 2015 by sulaymanibnqiddees

The remarkable Mayowa Adeyemo performs a powerful poem in praise of Olodumare, the Supreme Deity.

Original:

Odíderé ayékòótá máa wolè máràba
Odéderé ayébòútó máa wolè máràba
oò ri’ báyé nwá doríto dò tó dobúépo
ọmọ ò gbọ́ tí baba mo, baba ò gbó dimọ má, aya ò gbọ́ lọkọ mo
gbogbo rè wá polúkúrámusu nílé ayé o
Elédùmarè e, Olódù só màre
Òbá wá bá wa túnlé ayé se
Káyé ó máse dàrú má
Káyé ó rójú, káyé ó ráàyè
Kóòdè ó gba gbogbo wa nílé ayé
Torílé ayé yìí kansoso la wá
Àjò sì nilé ayé
Gbogbo wa la ó padà relí bóbá dọjọ́ kaa
Elédùmarè o o o
Ìwọ mà lọ̀mọ̀ràn tí moyún ìgbín nínú ìkọrọhua
Ìwọ mà leni tó tọgbọ́n mọgbá orí
Ìwọ mà leni tó dá gbogbo wa rílé ayé
Tí wọ́n ti ń pelé ayé nílé dúníyàn o
Elédùmarè ọba toto bọ bí orí
Bíyá tín bì ó díè kórí ire ó lè wá
Bo lè dámí l’óhùn gbogbo ohun tí mo bá
bèrè lọ́wọ́ ò ré lújúọ tòní o
Oba atérere káré ayé, Ọba kòṣeuntì
Òbàmùbárá matéré bamba
Elédùmarè
Ènìyàn wèròwèsò tí ò sée lowó wàdùwàdù mú
Enítóbá tasè àgèsè pérén
Kódà á sanwó láyé, á wá lo rèé sekà lórun ni
Elédùmarè o o o
Ọba ńlá, tí ò seé gbíjá, ọba tí ò seé gbìjà
Torí mọ súmóba níwọ̀n egbèje
Mo jìnnà sóba níwọ̀n egbejà
mi ò mà róba fín torá róba fiń loba ń pa
Ọba tótó bí aró, ọba rèrè bí osùn
Eléní àtèká gbogbo mekùn oòyè
Òpó àndù oyè
Ọba tí wọ́n kìí bá du oyè láíláí
L’elédùmarè ọba tèmi
Ọ̀bá dákun o gbébè mi
Ọ̀bá dákun o gbébè mi
Káyé ó ńjú fún wa
Káyé ó ńjú fún wa
Kílè yí ó sàn wá
Kílè yíí ó san wá
Kámáse rógun àdáyà
Kámáse rógun àgbédá
Kámáse rógun àkóbá
Lólá Elédùmarè jóo bá jé gbó àdúrà wa
Mose tótó, mo se sákì olú
Gbogbo èyí náà, ko ba lè gbóhùn èbè mi ni
Ọ̀bá dákun wá gbọ́ o o o

Your face like the moon

Posted on April 15, 2015 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Translation:

May your charming face ever shine like the full moon;
May you hold eternal sway over the domains of beauty.
By your amorous glance you have killed a poor man like me;
How magnanimous of you? May God give you a long life.
Pray do not be cruel lest you should feel ashamed of yourself
Before your lovers on the day of judgment.
I shall be set free from the bonds of the two worlds
If you become my companion for a while.
By your wanton playfulness you must have destroyed
Thousands of hearts of lovers like that of Khusrau.

Transliteration:

Bakhubi hamcho mah tabindah baashi;
Bamulk-e dilbari paayindah baashi.
Man-e darvish ra kushti baghamzah;
Karam kardi Ilahi zindah baashi.
Jafaa kam kun ki farda roz-e mehshar;
Baru-e aashiqan sharmindah baashi.
Ze qaid-e dojahan azad baasham;
Agar tu hum-nashin-e bandah baashi.
Barindi-o bashokhi hamcho Khusrau;
Hazaran khanuman barkandah baashi.

What is brighter than the moon?

This lovely performance begins with a verse by the celebrated Persian poet Sa’adi (d. 1292), then another verse by Fakhr ad-din ‘Iraqi (d. 1289), and finally a poem by Amir Khusro (d. 1325)

Translation:
Grant me a warm new life or grant me a hot death
I bow my head to your rule, and take You as my king.

-Sa ‘adī

Why should our enemies be so fortunate to die by your hands?
The heads of living friends are waiting for your dagger.

-‘Iraqi

I asked: “What is brighter than the moon?” She said: “It is my face.”

I asked: “What is sweeter than sugar?” She said: “It is my speech.”

I asked about the death of lovers; She said; “The pain of being separated from me.”

I asked about the cure of life; She said: “It is the sight of my face.”

I asked about the way of lovers; She said: “Fidelity.”

I said: “Then do not be cruel and wicked.” She said: “That is my task.”

I said: “Are you a houri or a fairy?” She said: “I am the King of idols”

I said: “Khusrau is helpless.” She said: “Worship me.”

persianminiaturebeaut

Original:

اگرم حیات بخشی و گرم هلاک خواهی
سر بندگی به حکمت بنهم که پادشاهی

سعدی-

نہ شود نصب دشمن، کہ شود ہلاک تیغت
سر دوستاں سلامت، کہ تو خنجر آزمائی
عراقي-

گفتم که روشن از قمر گفتا که رخسار منست
گفتم که شیرین از شکر گفتا که گفتار منست
گفتم طریق عاشقان گفتا وفاداری بود
گفتم مکن جور و جفا، گفتا کہ این کار منست
گفتم کہ مرگِ ناگہاں، گفتا که درد هجر من
گفتم علاج زندگی ،گفتا که دیدار منست
گفتم که حوری یا پری ، گفتا که من شاه ِ بتاں
گفتم که خسرو ناتوان گفتا پرستار منست

امير خسرو-

I stole a glance from Niẓam

Posted on April 13, 2015 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Translation:

Let the housewife say what she will,
I stole a glance from the eyes of Nizam.

His darling face and his charming form I have hidden in the depths of my heart.
Let Khusrao perish at the feet of Nizam, I have just sold him a priceless maid [Khusrau himself]

Khusrau! It is the blissful wedding night; I awake with my love.
The body mine, the heart my lover’s— both coloured in the same hue.

Transliteration:

Ghar nari gawari chaahe jo kahe
Main Nijam se naina laga aaii re

Aisa sundar, aisa chhabeela, duja koi nahin
Jaisa Baba Farid ka pyara Khwaja Nijamuddin

Sohani soorat, mohani moorat,
mein to hirday beech samaa, aaii re
Khusrao Nijam ke bal bal jaaie,
mein to anmol cheri bita, aaii re

Khusrau rain suhag ki, so jagi pii ke sang
Tan mora, man piihuu kaa, so dono aik hi rang

Favorite Verses of Amir Khusro

Posted on April 5, 2015 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Translation:

Love of you brings news of a world beyond consciousness

and brings the pious to down goblets of wine

Your cheek broke the repentant vows of dozens of ascetic devotees

and nearly had them wearing black

Yearning for you is the sheriff who seizes sultan reason by the hair

and drags him before the Messenger

To die by your sword—is this a goal to which one can strive?

One already dead isn’t inclined to aspire so high

Original:

عشقت خبر ز عالم بيهوشي آورد
اهل صلاح را به قدح نوشي آورد
رخسار تو که توبه صد پارسا شکست
نزديک شد که رو به سيه پوشي آورد
شوق تو شحنه ايست که سلطان عقل را
موي جبين گرفته به چاوشي آورد
مردن به تيغ تو چو به کوشش ميسر است
مرده ست آنکه ميل به کم کوشي آورد

Meister_des_Rasikapriyâ-Manuskripts_001

Translation:

Bing a brimming goblet that slides down the throat

and this yearning perhaps will drain from my heart

Don’t speak of repentance or say that wine should slip my mind

May my mind never slough off the jug

What repent of wine? If its taste is made known

angels will descend to its scent like flies

I am in death’s bonds today, Sāqī,

let wine flow through her head and flush her moonlike face

The ascetic tablet of my litanies and prayers is

the shard of a jug down which the wine-script dribbles

Any bead of sweat that drops from a beautiful face

is a disaster, a flood to carry of people’s hearts

With the way we drink our own blood at your door

how can you choke down a single drop of wine?

Happy are the times when I think of you day and night

and my life’s blood slashes here and there from my eyes

Open your veil and shut you lover’s mouths

Khusrau may be sinking fast from their talk

Original:

لبالب آر قدح کز گلو فرود آید
مگر که از دلم این آرزو فرود آید
مگوی تو به که آید فرود می ز سرم
مباد کز سر من این سبو فرود آید
ز می چه توبه که گر ذوق آن کند معلوم
فرشته چون مگس آنجا به بو فرود آید
به بند مردنم امروز، ساقیا، بگذار
که باده از سر آن ماهر و فرود آید
به زهد تخته ورد و دعای من باشد
سفال خم که خط می برو فرود آید
ز بهر بردن دلهای خلق سیل بلاست
هر آن عرق که ز روی نکو فرود آید
بدین صفت که همی خون خوریم بر در تو
ترا چگونه می اندر گلو فرود آید؟
خوش آن زمان که به یاد تو هر شبم تا روز
ز دیده خون جگر سو به سو فرود آید؟
نقاب واکن و لبهای عاشقان دربند
مگر که خسرو ازین گفتگو فرود آید

Translation:

Whoever sees you for one day, forgets this world and the next

Original:

هر کس که ببیندت به یک روز
ملک دو جهان کند فراموش

Translation:

You’ve came back drunk, whose guest were you?

I know you’re sugar, in whose cane field were you?

My absent friend, whose sad heart did you seek?

My Joseph, whose prison were you in?

My madman, by whose alley did you walk?

Whose anxieties did you pique?

Where did you drink wine last night? Whom did you give the goblet to?

In the darkness of night, were you in the spring of life?

Dressed-up and drunk, in whose arms did you sleep?

Who was so lucky? Whose orders did you obey?

Who picked through your curls? Who bit your lips?

With whom did you sit at night? Whose guest were you?

The sweets are all plundered, o heart, what have you done?

At whose table were you the fly?

In whose moaning body were you another soul?

On whose searing wound did you pour the salt?

You don’t have the scent of roses, Khusrau, nor the colour of spring

In whose garden have you been strolling?

Original:

مست آمده اي باز به مهمان که بودي؟
دانم شکري در شکرستان که بودي؟
اي يار جدا مانده، دل تنگ که جستي؟
اي يوسف گم گشته به زندان که بودي؟
ديوانه من بر سر کوي که گذشتي؟
تشويش ده حال پريشان که بودي؟
مي دوش کجا خوردي و ساغر به که دادي؟
در ظلمت شب چشمه حيوان که بودي؟
آراسته و مست در آغوش که خفتي؟
اين بخت کرا بوده، به فرمان که بودي؟
جعدت که گزيده ست، لبت را که گزيده ست؟
پيش که نشستي شب و مهمان که بودي؟
حلوا همه تاراج شد، اي دل، تو چه کردي؟
شهد که چشيدي، مگس خوان که بودي؟
جان دگري در تن نالان که بودي؟
کان نمکي در دل بريان که بودي؟
ني بوي گلي داري و ني رنگ بهاري
خسرو، تو به نظاره بستان که بودي؟

Behzad_soltan_hossein_left

Translation:

If I cannot see her, at least I can think of her, and so be happy;
To light the beggar’s hut no candle is better than moonlight.

Original:

گر جمال یار نبود با خیالش هم خوشم
خانه ٔ درویش را شمعی به از مهتاب نیست

Translation:

My heart is a wanderer in love, may it ever remain so.

My life’s been rendered miserable in love,
may it grow more and more miserable.

Original:

دلم در عاشقی آواره شد آواره تر بادا

تنم از بی‌دلی بیچاره شد بیچاره تر بادا

Translation:

People think they are alive because they have soul in them,
But I am alive because I have love in myself,
And I’m a martyr due to the beloved’s affliction,
(for, to a lover, nothing is dearer than
the affliction brought forth by the beloved).

Original:

اگر خلق جهان زند بجانند و لكن

من زنده عشقم كه شهيد عم يارم

kingandqueenpersianmin

Translation:

One drunk on you needs no wine,

no doctor has the cure for my pain

Moon don’t rise before my eyes

for with his face, I have no need for you at all

Original:

مست ترا به هيچ ميي احتياج نيست

رنج مرا ز هيچ طبيبي علاج نيست

اي مه، مشو مقابل چشمم که با رخش

ما را به هيچ وجه به تو احتياج نيست

Translation:

Though I weep blood over your boundless cruelty

with my eyelashes I still sweep the dust from your doorstep

You have broken many hearts of glass,

a crime that has turned your unkind heart to stone

No fulfillment with you, no delight for me

Soul bereft, I don’t belong to you or myself

All night ’till dawn your brutality roamed through my heart

“Ah, now you are in my heart” I thought—”In your soul” was the reply

Don’t frown. In those creases of your brow

I see foreshadowed the bow that will destroy the world

Who will rescue me from your tightly pursed mouth

when my purse is shrunk tighter than your lips?

You said, “Khusrau is mine.” What good fortune this is

I mean, just for my name to have crossed your lips

Original:

خون گريم ار چه از ستم بيکران تو

هم خاک روبم از مژه بر آستان تو

بسيار آبگينه دلها شکسته اي

زين جرم سنگ شد دل نامهربان تو

جان رفت و نه وصال توام شد نه عيش خوش

نه من از آن خويش شدم نه از آن تو

در دل که شب جفاي تو مي گشت تا به روز

گفتم که، اي تو، در دل من، گفت، جان تو

ابرو ترش مکن که شود کشته عالمي

زين چاشني که مي نگرم در کمان تو

از تنگي دهان توام دست کي دهد

روزي من چو تنگ تر است از دهان تو

گفتي که خسرو آن من است اين چه دولت است

يعني منم که مي گذرم بر زبان تو

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Translation:

Since union with you is not my lot, I try to pass the time

with heart’s blood, writing out your name, in one place, next to mine

Who is Khusrau that tormenting him, you tire your lips?

Please don’t toss out anywhere your insults like this.

Orignal

نيست چون بخت وصالم بهر صبر از خون دل

هر دمي يک جا نويسم نام تو با نام خويش

کيست خسرو تا لب خود رنجه داري در جفاش؟

اين چنين هم جابه جا ضايع مکن دشنام خويش

Translation:

I love you so much, I am overcome with jealousy

if you treat anyone else, as badly as you treated me

Original:

چنانت دوست مي دارم که غيرت مي برد جانم

ز تو بر ديگري گر خود همه بيداد مي آيد

Translation:

My fortunes woke from sleep when you slept with me

You didn’t sleep in my embrace, but in my shining eyes

restlessly you flit about, yet in the sleepless of your friend

you slept like a friend to strike our enemies blind

One night, you recall, we were both in the garden:

I in the brambles and thorns, you sleeping amidst flowers and roses

A cause for celebration! Khusrau perceived you so fully

That you slept all night with him, arms around his neck

Original:

بختم از خواب در آمد چو تو با من خفتی
نه در آغوش که در دیده روشن خفتی
هر دمی گردی و در دیده ناخفته دوست
دوستانه ز پی کوری دشمن خفتی
یاد داری که شبی هر دو به بستان بودیم
من به خار و خس و تو در گل و گلشن خفتی
این چه عید است که خسرو ز تو قدری دریافت
که تو با او همه شب دست به گردن خفتی

Translation:

Luck turned on me when you left my side.

When will you turn like my luck and walk back through the door?

Without the rose of your face, my heart contracts like a bud,

and I fear when it blooms, my shirt will burst.

With patience Khusrau, one can behave with moderation

but I fear I get worse with each passing day.

Original:

بخت برگشت ز من تا تو برفتي ز برم

کي بود باز که چون بخت در آيي ز درم؟

بي گل روي تو چون غنچه دلم تنگ آمد

بيم آن است که بر خويش گريبان بدرم

به صبوري بتوان کرد مداوا، خسرو

بيم آن است که هر روز که آيد بترم

Translation:

Like two dice, your eyes have won my heart and soul

and if you come to gamble, both worlds, by rights, are yours to win

Coming once you carried off a hundred like Khusrau, heart and soul.

Come again like this two or three times, and who will survive?

Original:

منم و دلی و آهی ره تو درون این دل
مرو ایمن اندر این ره که فگار خواهی آمد

به یک آمدن ربودی، دل و دین و جان خسرو
چه شود اگر بدین سان دو سه بار خواهی آمد

Persianmss14thCambassadorfromIndiabroughtchesstoPersianCourt

Translation:

I, Khusrau, play the game of love with my beloved,
If I win, the beloved’s mine, defeated, I’m beloved’s.

Original:

Khusrau baazi prem ki main khelun pi ke sung,
Jeet gayi to piya moray, haari, pi kay sung.

Translation:

You bring the lips, I’ll bring the heart,

now you have both wine and kabob

Original:

لب از تو و دل ز من، خوشي کن

چون هم مي و هم کباب داري

Translation:

You graciously gave me two kisses, but I passed out from the first

Come let’s start from the beginning, because I’ve lost count

What you declare so publicly, Khusrau is a dream

Where did you doze off to see things like this around you?

Original:

دو بوسم لطف کردي و شدم هم در يکي بيهش

رها کن تا ز سر گيرم که گم کردم شمار خود

به خواب ست اينکه مي گويي به پيش مردمان، خسرو
ترا کو خواب تا ببيني ازينها در کنار خود

Translation:

She speaks in the Turkish tongue, but I don’t know Turkish

How sweet would it be if her tongue were in my mouth!

My body burns with love beneath my shirt

so much that my glowing bones show through

Fulfill the heart lorn Khusrau’s desire, sit here awhile

so your heart will take pity on all my moaning and wailing

Original:

زبان اوست ترکي گوي و من ترکي نمي دانم

چه خوش بودي، اگر بودي زبانش در دهان من

چنان از عشق مي سوزد تنم در زير پيراهن

که از بيرون پيراهن نمايد استخوان من

مراد خسرو بيدل بر آر و يک زمان بنشين

که رحمي بر دلت آيد ز فرياد و فغان من

Translation:

Though you load my body, weak as a hair, with a universe of woe

I’ll not trade a single strand of your hair for both worlds

Why should I explain to you how I am,

now that Khusrau has become a legend in yearning and searching for you?

Original:

به تن چو تار مويت نهي ار دو صد جهان غم

ندهم به هيچ حالي دو جهان به تار مويت

پس ازين چه جاي آنت که ز حال خود بگويم

که فسانه گشت خسرو به جهان ز جستجويت

Mughal Miniature Painting Depicting a Lady Standing by a Tree in Blossom

Translation:

When her robe and her shift touch her skin,

I am envious of her robe and her robe envies her shift

She winks and people die, but does she grieve

the death of so many thousands like me?

Strange, one can get no sense of the stamp of her mind

but can see her spirit move through the thin gauze her body

I feed off it, a parasite, the way you tie people up in your curls

Bring a rope and throw it around my throat.

I crumble to dust on her street, I have only one regret:

that this dust contaminated with sorrow might reach her on the wind

Her lover, her pilgrim, dies a martyr of love

He is blessed and his shroud becomes a regal robe

To be joined with her is no more than this:

the lover is killed and plunged into her tangling hair

You didn’t understand Khusrau what your tongue asked of you

It was a hint to take a sword and cut off its head

Original:

قبا و پيرهن او که مي رسد به تنش

من از قباش به رشکم، قبا ز پيرهنش

کرشمه مي کند و مردمان همي ميرند

چه غم ز مردن چندين هزار همچو منش

عجب، اگر نتوان نقش خاطرش دريافت

ز نازکي بتوان ديد روح در بدنش

طفيل آنکه کسان را به زلف در بندي

بيار يک رسن و در گلوي من فگنش

به کوي او که شوم خاک، نيست غم مگر آنک

ز باد گرد غم آلود من رسد به تنش

شهيد عشق که شد يار در زيارت او

مبارک آمد و فرخنده خلعت کفنش

وصال با وي ازين بيش نيست عاشق را

که کشته گشت و در آمد به زلف پر شکنش

زبان که خواست ز تو، خسروا، نکردي فهم

کنايتي ست که برگير تيغ و سرفگنش

Translation:

Your cheek is like the moon, but more moon than moon

You tortured my heart and left behind a wound

Your wink mows the rows of other beauties down

If it’s not too much trouble, mow down my poor heart too

You cast a shadow on my joy, darkened my heart’s day

and eclipsed the age of far-sighted reason too

“Kill me if you won’t comfort me” I said to you

You can’t be bothered and are too lazy too

So I killed myself, the weapon of my choice: your cruelty

I made it all so easy for you and for myself too

My patience goes missing and leaves me behind

It won’t look back now out of fear, nor peek too far ahead

Let me tie on the infidel sash, abandon these idols

and give up praying and, God forbid, religion too

Though he brings on the apocalypse in my very soul

may he live until the end of days and a little longer too

You always tell me, “My elixir is sweet.”

If you ask Khusrau, darling, he’ll tell you that it’s poison too

Original:

اي رخت چون ماه و از مه بيش هم

خسته کردي سينه ما، ريش هم

غمزه تو بر صف خوبان زند

گر نرنجي بر دل درويش هم

تيره کردي عيش ما و روز دل

روزگار عقل دور انديش هم

گر نوازش نيست کشتن، گفتمت

کاهلي کردي در آن فرويش هم

کشتم از دست جفايت خويش را

بر تو آسان کردم و بر خويش هم

مي رود صبر من آواره ز من

پس نمي بيند ز بينم و پيش هم

ما و زنار مغانه کز بتان

وين نماز، استغفرالله، کيش هم

گر چه بر جانم قيامتها از اوست

تا قيامت عمر بادش بيش هم

هر زمان گويي که نوش من خوش است

گر ز خسرو پرسي، اي جان، نيش هم

Translations from In the Bazaar of Love

by Paul Losensky and Sunil Sharma

Bulleh Shah-My Beloved Reveals Untold Secrets

Posted on April 5, 2015 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Behad Ramzan Dasda Mera Dholan Mahi
(My beloved reveals untold secrets)

Transliteration

and

Translation

Ve Di??? Bhena Dus Mullah

Ouh Alif Seedha Kam Khat Aaya
O Yaar ???
Hun Des Vataa Hun Ik Wat Aaya
Sohna Meem Da Ghunghat Pa Ke Dekh…
Ali Haidera Pehle Ahad Si Hun Ahmad Bun Ke Vad Aaya

Speak not of the chaos of the “be”, O Mullah!
The straight “alif” has no twists1.
The lover of that single night has given up his land and come again wearing the veil of the beautiful “mim”.
He has come with locks of hair.
Ali Haider was first Ahad, now he comes again as Ahmad.