رات اور شاعر

NIGHT: Why in my light are you roaming about perturbed; silent like the rose, like the fragrance perturbed?

Perhaps you are the jeweler of the star’s pearls; perhaps you are some fish of the river of my light.

Or you are a star fallen from my forehead; which, leaving eminence has adopted habitation in humility.

Quiet has become the string of the harp of life. In my mirror is the picture of the dream of life.

At the bottom of the river the whirlpool’s eye is asleep’ by the river bank the restless wave has fallen asleep.

How tumultuous the habitation of the earth is; has fallen asleep as if it not even inhabited is.

But the poet’s heart is unacquainted with peace. How did you remain free from my enchantment?

POET: I am sowing pearls in the fields of your moon; hiding from people I weep like the dawn.

Being shy of coming out in the day’s commotion; my tears start dripping in the night’s seclusion.

To whom should I relate the lament concealed in me? To whom should I show the scene of the heat of Love1?

Aiman’s lightning is lying on my breast and weeping; where the eye which has insight is sleeping?

My congregation is dead like the grave’s candle, Ah! O night my destination is very far.

The present day conditions are not amenable to it; there is no perception of its own loss in it.

When I become tired of the restraint of Love’s message; coming here I relate them to your shining states!