x.x.x.
Even in the Kaaba courts my heart was moved, Brooding upon the idol that I loved, Mourning its loss. Now like a bird am I, That painted in a picture cannot fly Nor move nor sing; my heart is so outworn With all the lingering sorrow I have borne.
Within my heart thy presence I have felt, Within mine eyes, Beloved, thou hast dwelt For long long days. Who taught thee for a shrine To choose a heart so desolate as mine?
Long time I told my friends my bitter grief, And in the telling sought to find relief; In silence now instead I take my rest, And find that peace and loneliness are best.
MIR TAQI.
x.x.xI.
Wherever the Beloved looks she stirs Trouble and longing sore and eager breath And deep desire in all her worshippers, And some for her have drunk the cup of Death.
O Night of Separation, darkest night Of deepest grief, thy cruelty shall cease; To-morrow I shall greet the dawning light Within the city of Eternal Peace.
O threatening Whirlwind rolling on thy way, I shall unloose thy knot, if thou but dare With angry gusts to toss and disarray A single curl of the Beloved"s hair.
Sometimes her beauty goads and maddens me, I cannot bear her cruel loveliness, But turn her mirror that she may not see; Why should I let her double my distress?
Hearken, O Momin, all thy life is done!
In idol-worship at the Temple thou Hast spent thy days, and thus thy years have run: How canst thou call thyself a Muslim now?
MOMIN.
x.x.xII.
I, like a wandering bubble, Am blown here and there Shifting and changing and fashioned Of water and air.
Thou turnest thy face, O Beloved, I cannot tell why, Art thou shy of a mirror, Beloved?
Thy mirror am I!
When over her face she unloosened The dusk of her hair, What need had the world of the cloud-wreaths, They fled in despair.
MUSHAFI.
x.x.xIII.
No man hath ever pa.s.sed Into the Country of Eternal Rest With every longing stilled.
Who hath not lingering cast Long looks behind, and in his eager breast Held many a secret yearning unfulfilled?
Ah, Mushafi, to thee Silence and thought in solitude are best, For thou hast known That laurel crowns are idle vanity; There is no worldly rank thou covetest, And what to thee is Suleiman"s high throne?
MUSHAFI.
x.x.xIV.
Where has my childhood gone, where are its placid years?
For cruel youth hath brought pa.s.sion and bitter tears.
To the Creator now I from the dust complain-- Beauty, the thing he made, brings with it only pain.
Long I desired and dreamed, waiting with eager breath, But ere she came to me, Fate sent the sleep of Death.
To G.o.d as servitor I my devotion gave, Now Love hath taken me, bound me to be his slave.
I, Muztar, die with grief, yearning unsatisfied, Still hangs the purdah"s fold I cannot draw aside, Nor lift the needless veil woven of shame and pride.
MUZTAR.
x.x.xV.
The fire of love I for my idol know Within my bosom hides, As in the mountain "neath its crust of snow The flame abides.
Long have I yearned in vain to kiss her feet, I lay my weary head Down in the dust, that thus my lips may greet Where she may tread.
No wealth have I, but like the moth I live: Since love demands a price, I, like the moth, have but my life to give In sacrifice.
How has my bird-like soul been stricken low, Pierced to the very heart!
My love has used instead of bolt and bow A deadlier dart.
NASIKH.
x.x.xVI.
The wound upon my heart glows bright and clear With such a steady and unwavering light That in the darkness I shall have no fear And need no lamp to guide my steps aright.