The Garden Of Bright Waters | Page 3

heart has become a red kiln, like a
terrace of roses.
It is because she does not trouble about the bee on
the rose That my heart is taken.
"I have blackened my eyes to kill you, Sayyid Kamal.
I kill you with
my eyelids; I am Natarsa, the Panjabie, the pitiless."
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF SAYYID AHMAD
My heart is torn by the tyranny of women very quietly;
Day and night
my tears are wearing away my cheeks very quietly.
Life is a red thing like the sun setting very quietly;
Setting quickly
and heavily and very quietly.
If you are to buy heaven by a good deed, to-day the market is open;
To-morrow is a day when no man buys,
And the caravan is broken up
very quietly.
The kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake
Sayyid Ahmad is walking and mourning very quietly.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._

GHAZAL, IN LAMENT FOR THE DEAD, OF PIR
MUHAMMAD
The season of parting has come up with the wind;
My girl has
hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation.
Keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless.
None ever
cured the ills of the ill of separation.
There is no one near me noble enough to be told;
I tear my collar in
the "Alas! Alas!" of separation.
She was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me. Autumn
has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of
separation.
I am Pir Muhammad and I am stumbling away to die;
She stamped
on my eyes with the foot of separation.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
BALLADE OF NURSHALI
Come in haste this dusk, dear child. I will be on the water path When
your girl friends go laughing by the road.
"Come in haste this dusk; I
have become your nightingale,
And the young girls leave me alone
because of you.
I give you the poppy of my mouth and my fallen
hair."
Come in haste this dusk, dear child.
"I have dishevelled and spread out my hair for you;
Take my wrist,
for there is no shame
And my father has gone out.
Sit near me on
this red bed quietly."
Come in haste this dusk, dear child.
"Sit near me on this red bed, I lift the poppy to your lips; Your hand is
strong upon my breast;
My beauty is a garden and you the bird in the
flowering tree." Come in haste this dusk, dear child.

"My beauty is a garden with crimson flowers."
But I cannot reach
over the thicket of your hair.
This is Nurshali sighing for the garden;

Come in haste this dusk, dear child.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._
GHAZAL OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI
The world is fainting,
And you will weep at last.
The world is fainting
And falling into a swoon.
The world is turning and changing;
The world is fainting,
And you
will weep at last.
Look at the love of Farhad, who pierced a mountain
And pierced a
brass hill for the love of Shirin.
The world is fainting,
And you will
weep at last.
Qutab Khan of the Ranizais was in love
And death became the
hostess of his lady.
The world is fainting,
And you will weep at last.
Adam loved Durkho, and they were separated.
You know the story;

There is no lasting love.
The world is fainting,
And you will weep
at last.
Muhammad Din is ill for the matter of a little honey;
This is a
moment to be generous.
The world is fainting,
And you will weep
at last.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
MICRA
When you lie with me and love me,
You give me a second life of
young gold;
And when you lie with me and love me not,
I am as

one who puts out hands in the dark
And touches cold wet death.
_From the Pus'hto of Mirza Rahchan Kayil (Afghans, nineteenth
century)._
BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI
A twist of fresh flowers on your dark hair,
And your hair is a
panther's shadow.
On your white cheeks the down of a thousand roses,

They speak about your beauty in Lahore.
You have your mother's
lips;
Your ring is frosted with rubies,
And your hair is a panther's
shadow.
Your ring is frosted with rubies;
I was unhappy and you looked over
the wall,
I saw your face among the crimson lilies;
There is no
armour that a lover can buy,
And your hair is a panther's shadow.
"The cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers
And they go away.

I have fatigued the wise of many lands,
And my hair is a tangle of
serpents.
What is the profit of these shawls without you?
And my
hair is a panther's shadow."
"A squadron of my father's men are about me,
And I have woven a
collar of yellow flowers.
My eyes are veiled because I drink cups of
bhang,
Being a daughter of the daughter of queens.
You cannot
touch me because of my palaces,
And my