I was recently introduced to this amazing 20th-century Urdu Sufi poet and scholar (he translated and Ibn al-‘Arabi’s Fuṣūṣ al-Hikam and Futūḥāt al-Makkiyya and al-Ḥallāj’s Kitāb al-Ṭawāsīn into Urdu) in these beautiful translations by Amer Latif from this article:
Latif, Amer. “Ẕahīn Shāh Tājī’s (d. 1978) Signs of Beauty (Āyāt-i Jamāl).” Journal of Sufi Studies 10, no. 1-2 (2021): 215-233.
We have seen the turning of thy face to heaven. And now verily We shall turn you toward a qibla [direction of prayer] which is dear to thee. So turn thy face toward the Inviolable Place of Worship, and ye, wheresoever ye may be, turn your faces toward it. Lo! Those who have received the Scripture know that is the Truth from their Lord. And Allah is not unaware of what they do.
Qur’an 10:87
We revealed to Moses and his brother, “Appoint houses for your people in Egypt and make your houses a qibla [direction of prayer], and establish worship. And give good news to the believers.”
Qur’an 2:155
To god belong the East and West, and wheresoever you turn, there is the face of God.
“Do you think my qibla is only here [before me]? By God, your bowing and prostrating are not concealed from me; I can see you even though you are behind my back.”
-Hadith
Rumi
Since the qibla of the soul has been hidden
everyone has turned his face to a different corner
(Masnavi 5:328-337)
Original:
قبله‌ی جان را چو پنهان کرده‌اند
هر کسی رو جانبی آورده‌اند
The Kaaba of Gabriel and the celestial spirits is a Lote-tree;
the glutton’s qibla is a cloth laden with dishes of food.
The qibla of the Knower is the light of union with God;
the qibla of the philosopher’s mind is fantasy.
The qibla of the ascetic is God, the Gracious;
the qibla of the flatterer is a purse of gold.
The qibla of the spiritual is patience and long-suffering;
the qiblah of form-worshippers is an image of stone.
The qibla of those who live in the inward is the Bounteous One;
the qibla of those who worship the outward is a woman’s face.
(Masanvi 6, 1896–1900)
Original:
کعبه‌ی جبریل و جانها سدره‌ای ** قبله‌ی عبدالبطون شد سفره‌ای
قبله‌ی عارف بود نور وصال ** قبله‌ی عقل مفلسف شد خیال
قبله‌ی زاهد بود یزدان بر ** قبله‌ی مطمع بود همیان زر
قبله‌ی معنی‌وران صبر و درنگ ** قبله‌ی صورت‌پرستان نقش سنگ
قبله‌ی باطن‌نشینان ذوالمنن ** قبله‌ی ظاهرپرستان روی زن
By virtue of that Light the calf becomes a qibla of grace;
without that Light the qibla becomes infidelity and an idol.
The licence that comes from self-will is error;
the licence that comes from God is perfection.
In that quarter where the illimitable Light has shone,
infidelity has become faith and the Devil has attained unto Islam.
Original:
عجل با آن نور شد قبله‌ی کرم ** قبله بی آن نور شد کفر و صنم
کفر ایمان گشت و دیو اسلام یافت ** آن طرف کان نور بی‌اندازه تافت
(Masnavi 6: 2073)
Within the Ka‘ba the rule of the qibla does not exist:
what matter if the diver has no snow-shoes?
Do not seek guidance from the drunken:
why dost thou order those whose garments are rent in pieces to mend them?
The religion of Love is apart from all religions:
for lovers, the (only) religion and sect is God.
Original:
در درون کعبه رسم قبله نیست ** چه غم ار غواص را پاچیله نیست
تو ز سر مستان قلاووزی مجو ** جامه چاکان را چه فرمایی رفو
تو ز سر مستان قلاووزی مجو ** جامه چاکان را چه فرمایی رفو
ملت عشق از همه دینها جداست ** عاشقان را ملت و مذهب خداست
(Masnavi 6:1768-1770)
Since the Hand of God has made the Qibla manifest,
henceforth deem searching to be disallowed.
Hark, avert your face and head from searching,
now that the Destination and Dwelling-place has come into view.
If you forget this Qibla for one moment, you will become in thrall to every worthless qibla (object of desire).
When you show ingratitude to him that gives you discernment, the thought that recognises the Qibla will dart away from you.
Original:
قبله را چون کرد دست حق عیان ** پس تحری بعد ازین مردود دان
هین بگردان از تحری رو و سر ** که پدید آمد معاد و مستقر
ک زمان زین قبله گر ذاهل شوی ** سخره‌ی هر قبله‌ی باطل شوی
چون شوی تمییزده را ناسپاس ** بجهد از تو خطرت قبله‌شناس
Amīr Khusrow
Every sect has a faith, a Qibla to which they turn,
I have turned my face towards the crooked cap (of Nizamudin Aulia)
The whole world worships something or the other,
Some look for God in Mecca, while some go to Kashi (Banaras),
So why can’t I, Oh wise people, fall into my beloved’s feet?
Every sect has a faith, a Qibla.
Original:
هر قوم راست راهي، ديني و قبله گاهي
من قبله راست كرديم ،بر سمت كج كلاهي
…
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…
Mirza Ghālib
The one to whom I bow is beyond senses’ boundaries
The qiblah itself’s a pointer for those who can see
Original:
ہے پرے سرحدِ ادراک سے اپنا مسجود
قبلے کو اہلِ نظر قبلہ نما کہتے ہیں
Ibn ‘Arabi:
Contemplate the house: for sanctified hearts,
its lights shine openly
They look at it through God, without a veil,
and its august and sublime secret appears to them.
and famously:
My heart has become receptive to every form
A meadow for gazelles, and a cloister for the monks
A house for the idols, and the pilgrim’s Ka’aba
The tablets of the Torah, pages of the Qur’an
My religion is love’s own and wheresoever turn
Her caravan, that love is my religion and my faith
We have an example in Bishr, lover of Hind and her sister,
The perhaps most obvious poetic lines to cite are Rūmī's:
The qibla of the glutton, that is the table-cloth. The qibla for the gnostic: the light of union with God, … The qibla of those who worship the form: an image of stone …
“”For my purposes, religion will mean orientation—orientation in the ultimate sense, that is, how one comes to terms with the ultimate significance of one’s place in the world.”
“Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship–be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles–is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.
Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful, it’s that they’re unconscious. They are default settings.
They’re the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that’s what you’re doing.
And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the centre of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving…. The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.
That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.”
Two of my favorite Nusrat classics, Tumhein Dillagi Bhool and Mast Naszron Say illuminate each other nicely:
Tumhein dillagi bhool
Translation (modified from Sur Street) and transliteration:
Chorus:
Tumhein dillagi bhool jani pare gi
Tumhein dillagi bhool jani pare gi
Muhabbat ki raahon mein aa kar to dekho
You will have to forget about playing games
You will have to forget about playing games
Come into the ways of love and see
Tarapne pe mere na phir tum hanso ge
Tarapne pe mere na phir tum hanso ge
Kabhi dil kissi se laga kar to dekho
Then you will not laugh at my torment
Then you will not laugh at my torment
Give your heart to someone once and see
Honton ke paas aye hansi, kya majaal hai
Dil ka muamla hai koi dillagi nahin
A smile dare not creep over the lips…
This is a matter of the heart, not a mere game
Zakhm pe zakhm kha ke ji
Apne lahoo ke ghont pi
Aah na kar labon ko si
Ishq hai dillagi nahin
Take wound upon wound, yet live
Drink sips of your own blood
Drink sips of your own blood
Let out not a single sigh, seal your lips
This is love, not a game
Dil laga kar pata chaley ga tumhein
Aashiqui dillagi nahin hoti
When you have given your heart you will realize
Love is not a game
Kuch khel nahin hai ishq ki laag
Paani na samajh ye aag hai aag
Love is not child’s play
Don’t think of it as water, this is fire!
Khoon rulaye gi ye lagi dil ki
Khel samjho na dillagi dil ki
It makes you shed bloody tears
Don’t think of it as child’s play
Yeh ishq nahin aasaan
Bas itna samajh leejay
Ik aag ka darya hai
Aur doob ke jaana hai
This love is not easy
think of it this way:
It is a river of fire
and to cross you must drown!
Wafaaon ki hum se tawaqo nahin hai
Wafaaon ki hum se tawaqo nahin hai
Magar ek baar aazma kar to dekho
Zamanay ko apna bana kar to dekha
Humein bhi tum apna bana kar to dekho
You may not expect me to be faithful
You may not expect me to be faithful
But you have to try me at least once
You gave yourself to the whole world
Now try making me your own!
Khuda ke liya chor do ab yeh parda…
Rukh se naqab utha, ke bari der ho gayi
Mahol ko tilaawat-e-quraan kiye hoye
Khuda ke liye chor do ab yeh parda…
For God’s sake, reveal yourself now…
Lift the veil now, it has been long since
the world burst into songs of praise…
For God’s sake, reveal yourself now…
Hum na samjhe teri nazron ka taqaza kya hai Kabhi parda kabhi jalwa yeh tamasha kya hai Khuda ke liye chor do ab yeh parda…
I couldn’t understand the meaning of your glace
Withdrawn this moment, and open the next, what is this play?
For God’s sake, reveal yourself now…
Jan-e-jan hum se uljhan nahin dekhi jaati Khuda ke liye chor do ab yeh parda…
My darling, I cannot bear to see this struggle now
For God’s sake, reveal yourself now…
Khuda ke liya chor do ab yeh parda Keh hain aaj hum tum nahin ghair koi Shab-e-wasl bhi hai hijaab iss kadar kyon Zara rukh se aanchal utha kar to dekho
For God’s sake, reveal yourself now…
For you and I are strangers no more
Why the veil on the night of the union?
Uncover your face and look up now…
Jafaaein buhat kien buhat zulm dhaye Kabhi ik nigah-e-karam iss taraf bhi Humesha huay dekh kar mujh ko barham Kissi din zara muskura kar to dekho
So much oppression, so much cruelty
Perhaps a kind glance this way now?
Forever my sight offended you
Perhaps direct a smile my way now?
Jo ulfat mein har ek sitam hai gawara Yeh sab kuch hai paas-e-wafa tum se warna Satate ho din raat jiss tarha mujh ko Kissi ghair ko youn sata kar to dekho
In love, I have borne every wound inflicted
All of this out of loyalty to you
The way that you tease me day and night…
Go tease another and see what happens!
Agarche kissi baat par woh khafa hain To acha yehi hai tum apni si kar lo Woh maanein na mannein yeh marzi hai unki Magar un ko pur-nam mana kar to dekho
Though she seems upset about something
Perhaps it is better to just move on
To accept me or not, that is her will
But try to convince her with all your passion!
Tumhein dillagi bhool jani pare gi Muhabbat ki raahon mein aa kar to dekho
Entire life spent in splendor, it need not be
Every night of sorrow has a dawn, it need not be
Slumber can arise in a bed of pain, in the arms of my love, it need not be
Fire is considered by the moths as child’s play, every moth is afraid of its fate, it need not be
A shaykh who prays to god in the mosque, his prostration is effective, it need not be
O God save us from the intoxicated glances! O God save us from the moon-faced ones!
Let any affliction come upon us [but] God save us from the pretty ones.
Don’t let their innocence fool you; don’t let them make you a fool
they rob with just a smile, O God save us from their spells!
Innocent appearance and innocuous talk, but there is a difference between what they say and what they mean
though their face is like that of moon, O God save us from the schemes of their hearts!
In the hearts there is a desire for beautiful companions in heaven, but they show their love of prayers [to the world].
Now, from the likes of the abstinent, O God save us from these “Godly” ones!
In their nature is infidelity, it is known by all and sundry
they beguile even the smart ones, O God save us from the innocuous ones!
Poetry by Nasir Iqbal Maikash
Original (in transliteration):
umr jalwon mein basar ho yeh zarori to nahi
her shab e gham ki sahr ho yeh zarori to nahi
neend to dard ke bistar pe bhi aa sakti hai
unki aaghosh mein sir ho yeh zarori to nahi
aag ko khail patangon ne samajh rakh hai
sub ko anjaam ka dar ho yeh zarori to nahi
shaikh karta hai jo masjid mein khuda ko sajde
iske sajdoon mein asar ho yeh zarori to nahi
Mast nazron se Allah bachaye
Mahjamalon se Allah bachaye
Mast nazron se Allah bachaye
Mahjamalon se Allah bachaye
Har bala sar pe aa jaye lekin
Husn walon se Allah bachaye
Inki maasoomiyat par na jaana
Inke dhoke mein har giz na aana
Loot lete hain yeh muskura kar
In ki chalon se Allah bachaye
Inki maasoomiyat par na jaana
Inke dhoke mein har giz na aana
Loot lete hain yeh muskura kar
Inki chalon se Allah bachaye
Loot lete hain yeh muskura kar
Inki chalon se Allah bachaye
Loot lete hain ye, loot lete hain
Ye loot lete hain, ye loot lete hain
Ye loot lete hain, ye loot lete hain
Jalakrukhi dikha kar, muskura kar loot lete hain
Nigao se nigao ko mila kar loot lete hain
Ye atchi pardadaadi hain, ye atchi dilnawazi hain
Hasa kar loot lete hain, rula kar loot lete hain
Ye loot lete hain, ye loot lete hain
Ye loot lete hain, ye loot lete hain
Husn waale wafa nahi karte
Ishq waale dagha nahi karte
Zulm karna to inki aadat hain
Ye kisi ka bhala nahi karte
Ye loot lete hain, ye loot lete hain
Ye loot lete hain, ye loot lete hain
Amir is raaste se jo guzrte hain woh kehte hain
Muhalla hain haseeno ka, ke ki basti hain
Ye loot lete hain, ye loot lete hain
Loot lete hain yeh muskura kar
Inki chalon se Allah bachaye
Inki fitrat mein hain be-wafaai
Jaanti hain ye saari khudaaee
Atche-atcho ko dete hain dhoka
Bhole-bhalo se Allah bachaye
Atche-atcho ko dete hain dhoka
Bhole-bhalo se Allah bachaye
Mast nazron se Allah bachaye
Mahjamalon se Allah bachaye
Original (inspired by the above poems)
Forget about your poetry,
forget music, and dance Thislove is not a game, my friend
it’s real life, not romance
It’s serious as death again
and twice as hard to stand
Your life is but the bargained price
for stealing just a glance
Your life is but the bargained price
for stealing just a glance
Since my eyes fell on your beauty
Swarms of evil eyes pursued me
I swatted them away like flies
But your one glance shot right through me
They seek my blood, I seek your heart
Because you stole mine so cruelly
Planted ‘neath your balcony
wat’ring flowers with my eyes
chasing storm clouds with my sighs
too weak to live, too strong to die
Waiting for your glance to fall
On me like a guillotine
Setting body and head free
from this wishful, hopeless dream
Thislove is not a river,
it’s an ocean of fire
a broad desert of ceaseless sighs,
wide skies of vast desire
And there’s no way get across,
it’s too hard to swim down
So keep away from the edge or
plunge in and burn and drown!
The candle flame has hitched a ride
on this moth bound for the sun
Climbing moonbeams to your face
your eyes become my drop’s ocean
Don’t blame me for this smoke
it was you who lit the fire
don’t complain of the heat
it’s my body on the pyre
It’s your fault that I hope, my dear
and you caused all this pain
sweet as it is, please stop playing—
I can’t take this and the blame
I dreamed that I kissed you
and I prayed I’d never wake
I heard that I missed you
and my life I tried to take
but found that you’d beat me to it
My life was yours before I knew it
Don’t leave me stumbling in the dark
With flashes of your lightning smile
Please light my path and guide my ark
have mercy on a heart beguiled!
Let me be your veil, my love
kissing your lips with every breath
Let me be your hair, above
your bright eyes, glinting dark as death
Your eyes are blinding eclipses
within these magic ellipses
See all that was, will be, and is
but only if you hush—listen!
It seems like I’m your shadow
I can’t even get away
so cast me anywhere you will
all I can do is sway
Where you fly is where I run
and where you stop is where I’m through
Waiting for high noon to come
and return me back to you
Beneath your feet is where I’m from
between your finger and your thumb
My heart is spinning, sick, struck dumb
by thislove, what I—you’ve become
Forget about your poetry,
forget music, and dance Thislove is not a game, my friend
it’s real life, not romance
It’s serious as death again
and twice as hard to stand
Your life is but the bargained price
for stealing just a glance
Your life is but the bargained price
for stealing just a glance
O beloved one:
If God were to be found by bathing and washing,
then God would be found by fish and frogs.
If God were to be found by roaming in jungle,
then God would be found by cows and buffaloes.
O Mian Bulleh
God is found by hearts righteous and pure.
You have read a thousand books
but have you read your ‘self’?
You rush to mosques and temples
in indecent haste,
have you tried to enter your Self?
You are enagged in
needless battle with Satan
have you ever fought with your nafs?
You have reached the sky
But have failed to reach
what’s in your heart!
Come to my abode, My friend
morning, noon and night!
Destroy the mosque,
destroy the temple
do as you please;
But do not break the human heart
for God dwells therein!
I search for You in jungle and wilderness
I have searched far and wide.
Do not torment me thus My Love
morning, noon and night!
Come to my abode, My Love
morning, noon and night!
Original (transliteration):
Je rab milda nahateya dhoteya,
te o milda dadduan machiyan noon.
Je rab milda jangal pahareyan,
te o milda gaiyaan bachiyan noon.
Je rab milda mandir – masiti,
te o milda cham chidikhiyan noon.
Ve Bulleya rab onhan noon milda..
Ati dil-eya achiyyan sachhiya noon.
I am not a believer in the mosques, nor do I follow the rites of unbelief. I am not among the pure or polluted. I am neither Moses nor Pharoah.
I am not in the Vedas or in the scriptures; I am neither in drugs nor alcohol. I am not among the drunks, neither in waking nor sleeping.
I am not in joy or sadness, neither pollution nor purity. I am not of water or of earth, nor am I of fire or air.
I am not an Arab nor from Lahore, nor an Indian from Nagaur. I am neither Hindu nor a Turk form Peshawar. Nor do I live in Nadaun.
I have not discovered the secret of religion; nor am I born of Adam and Eve. I have not given myself a name, nor am I found sitting still or moving around.
I know I am the First, I know I am Last, I do not recognize anyone else. None is wiser than I. Bulleh, who is the Lord standing here?
Original:
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ میں مومن وچ مسیت آں
نہ میں وچ کفر دی ریت آں
نہ میں پاکاں وچ پلیت آں
نہ میں موسٰی، نہ فرعون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ میں اندر بید کتاباں
نہ وچ بھنگاں، نہ شراباں
نہ رہنا وچ خراباں
نہ وچ جاگن، نہ سون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ وچ شادی نہ غمناکی
نہ میں وچ پلیتی پاکی
نہ میں آبی نہ میں خاکی
نہ میں آتش نہ میں پون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ میں عربی، نہ لاہوری
نہ میں ہندی شہر رنگوری
نہ ہندو نہ ترک پشوری
نہ میں رہنا وچ ندون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ میں بھیت مذہب دا پایاں
نہ میں آدم حوا جایا
نہ میں اپنا نام دھرایا
نہ وچ بھٹن، نہ وچ بھون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
اول آخر آپ نوں جاناں
نہ کوئی دوجا پچھاناں
میتھوں ہور نہ کوئی سیانا
بلھا! او کھڑا ہے کون؟
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
pseudo-Rumi
What is to be done, O Muslims? for I do not know myself.
I am neither Christian, nor Jew, nor Magian, nor Muslim.
I am not of the East, nor of the West, nor of the land, nor of the sea;
I am not of Nature’s quarry, nor of the heaven circling above.
I am not made of earth, nor of water, nor of wind, nor fire;
nor of the Divine Throne, nor the carpet, nor the cosmos, nor mineral.
I am not from India, nor China, nor Bulgaria, nor Turkestan;
I am not from the kingdom of the two Iraqs, nor from the earth of Khurasan.
Neither of this world, nor the next, I am, nor of Heaven, nor of Hell;
Nor from Adam, nor from Eve, nor from Eden nor Rizwan.
My place is the Placeless, my trace is the Traceless;
‘Tis neither body nor soul, for I myself am the Beloved.
I have cast aside duality, I have seen the two worlds as one;
One I seek, One I know, One I see, One I say.
He is the First, He is the Last, He is the Outward, He is the Inward;
I know no one other than He, none but he who is He
Drunk with Love’s cup, the two worlds have been lost to me;
I have no business save carouse and revelry.
If once in my life I spent a moment without you,
From that time and from that hour I repent of my life.
If once in this retreat I win a moment with you,
I will trample on both worlds, and dance in ecstasy
O Shams of Tabriz, I am so drunk in this world,
That except for drunkenness and revelry, I have no tale to tell.
Original:
چه تدبیر ای مسلمانان که من خود را نمیدانم
نه ترسا و یهودیم نه گبرم نه مسلمانم
نه شرقیم نه غربیم نه بریم نه بحریم
نه ارکان طبیعیم نه از افلاک گردانم
نه از خاکم نه از بادم نه از ابم نه از اتش
نه از عرشم نه از فرشم نه از کونم نه از کانم
نه از دنیی نه از عقبی نه از جنت نه از دوزخ
نه از ادم نه از حوا نه از فردوس رضوانم
مکانم لا مکان باشد نشانم بی نشان باشد
نه تن باشد نه جان باشد که من از جان جانانم
دویی از خود بیرون کردم یکی دیدم دو عالم را
یکی جویم یکی گویم یکی دانم یکی خوانم
ز جام عشق سرمستم دو عالم رفت از دستم
بجز رندی و قلاشی نباشد هیچ سامانم
اگر در عمر خود روزی دمی بی او بر اوردم
از ان وقت و از ان ساعت ز عمر خود پشیمانم
الا ای شمس تبریزی چنان مستم در ین عالم
که جز مستی و قلاشی نباشد هیچ درمانم
Shushtari
After extinction I came out, and I
Eternal now am, though not as I
And who am I, O I, but I?
خرجت في حين بعد الفنا
ومن هنا بقيت بلا أنا
ومن أنا يا أنا إلا أنا
(Abul-l-Hassan ash-Shushtari of Andalusia; trans.by Martin Lings)
‘Sufi Poems: A Mediaeval Anthology’ by Martin Lings
No I am not roaming aimlessly
through the alleys and bazaar
I am a lover searching for his beloved
God have mercy on me
I am walking around troubled
I have done wrong and sinned
and am walking around wounded
I have drunk the wine of desire
and am walking around lovelorn
Though I may seem drunk
I am quite sober
Original:
نه من بيهوده گرد کوچه و بازار می گردم
مذاق عاشقی دارم پی ديدار ميگردم
خدايا رحم کن بر من پريشان وار می گردم
خطا کارم گناهکارم به حال زار می گردم
شراب شوق می نوشم به گرد يار می گردم
سخن مستانه می گويم ولی هوشيار می گردم
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
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…
