فلسفہ غم

Though the wine of life is the embodiment of pleasure; the cloud of life carries tears also in its skirt.

The bubble of life dances on the wave of grief; ‘Alam’s’ Surah* is also part of the Book of Life.

By losing even a single petal the rose ceases to be rose; if the nightingale is unaware of autumn it ceases to be nightingale.

The heart’s story is coloured with Longing’s blood; the human music is incomplete without lament’s cry.

For the discerning eye the grief’s scar is insight; for the soul sigh’s mirror is beauty’s accompaniment.

Incidents of grief give perfection to human nature; the dust of anguish is rouge for the heart’s mirror.

Youth is awakened from sleep’s pleasure by grief; this orchestra wakes up with this plectrum alone.

For the heart’s bird grief is the strongest feather. The human heart is a secret whose disclosure is grief.

Grief is not distress, but is the soul’s silent song, which is locked in the embrace of existence’ harp.

Whose night is not acquainted with ‘Ya Rab’s’* plaint! Whose night does not manifest the stars of tears!

Whose heart’s cup does not know breaking with grief! Who always remained ecstatic with pleasure and exhilaration!

The gardener whose hand is safe from thorn’s tip; whose love is unaware of the pathos of separation.

Though grief’s affliction is far from his life; the secret of life is concealed from his eyes.

O the one with comprehension of life’s affairs! Why should not grief and sorrow be easy for you?

Love is the introduction to the Eternity’s old treatise; human intellect is mortal but Love is eternally alive.

The evening of death is no match to the sun of Love. Love is the warmth of life and lasts till eternity.

If annihilation had been intended for the departed beloved; Love’s zeal would have also departed from the Lover’s heart.

Love does not die by the beloved’s death; it stays in the soul as grief but does not die.

Lover’s immortality is the beloved’s immortality; the beloved’s life is unacquainted with mortality.

The spring comes singing from the mountain top teaching the art of singing to the birds of the sky.

Its mirror is bright like the Houri’s cheek, but falling on valley’s rocks it is shattered.

The river’s pearls ever more beautiful became; that is by this fall they water’s stars became.

The river of flowing mercury spread and became scattered; a whole entire world of restless drops became manifest;

But separation is the training for reunion to those drops, after a while the same river is running like a silver string.

The flowing river of life is of the same origin; falling from high it became the concourse of humanity.

In the depths of this world we part to reunite | But we cry considering temporary parting as permanent

Though the dead do die they do not perish | Really they do not get separated from us

When Intellect be surrounded in worldly calamities | Or when it be besieged in the dreary night of youth

When the heart’s skirt be the battle field of good and evil | When journey to the goal be difficult in road’s darkness

When the Khizar of courage may be resigned from longing; when Intellect be helpless and conscience a silent voice;

When not a single fellow-traveler be in the vale of life | When not even fire-fly’s spark to show the way there be

The foreheads of the dead brighten up in this darkness | As stars are shining in the darkness of the night