Hindustani Lyrics | Page 6

If on the last dread Day of Reckoning
I think of you, and in my heart
there shine
The beauty of your face,
God's Beatific Vision shall be mine.
Once I had friends, now none are left to me;
I see none else but you,
because my heart

Has wholly fled to you,
And thus I walk the ways of Earth apart.
I, Asif, am the chief of sinners held,
This dark dishonour will I not
deny,
But glory in my shame;
Where is another sinner such as I?
ASIF.
XIII.
O changing Wheel of Fate, still let there last
Before our eager eyes,
still let there burn,
This vision of the world; when we have passed
There shall be no return.
I thought that, leaving thee, rest would be mine,
My lost tranquillity I
might regain,
But separation brings no anodyne,
And kills me with its pain.
How can I traffic in Love's busy mart?
Thou hast won from me more
than stores of gold;
That I may bargain, give me back the heart
Thy cruel fingers hold.
O heart desirous, in Love's perilous way
Thy journey take and in his
paths abide,
And thou mayst find perchance, lest thou should stray,
Awaiting thee, a guide.
DAGH.
XIV.
O Weaver of Excuses, what to thee
Are all the promises that thou hast
made,
The truth derided, and the faith betrayed,

And all thy perfidy?
Sometimes thou sayest--Come at eventide:
And when the evening
falls, thou sayest--Dawn
Was when I called thee. Even when night is
gone
I wait unsatisfied.
When in thy haughty ear they did commend
Me as the faithfullest of
all thy train,
Thou saidst--I hold such lovers in disdain,
I scoff at such a friend.
O Mischief-maker, passing-on thy way
So lovely is thy mien, all
creatures must
Cry out--It is debarred to things of dust
To walk so winningly.
Why shouldst thou keep from tyranny anew?
Why shouldst thou not
betray another one?
What matter if he die? Thou hast but done
What thou wast born to do.
Who cares not for his heart nor for his creed
Is the idolater. His
worthless name
Is Dagh. O Fair Ones, look upon his shame!
He is disgraced indeed.
DAGH.
XV.
Thy love permits not my complaint to rise,
It reaches to my lips, and
then it dies.
Now, helpless heart, I cannot aid thee more,
And thus
for thee God's pity must implore.
Seest thou not how much disgrace and pain
The scornful world has

heaped upon us twain,
On thee for beauty and the sins thereof,
On
me for this infirmity of love.
Oft-times she will not speak to me at all,
Or if she deign to speak, the
words that fall
Cold from her haughty lips are words of blame:
--I
know thee not--I have not heard thy name!
Deep in my memory was graved the trace
Of all I suffered since I saw
thy face;
But now, Beloved, thou hast come to me,
I have erased the
record utterly.
With empty hands all mortal men are whirled
Through Death's grim
gate into the other world:
This is my pride that it is granted me
To
carry with me my desire for thee.
They say when I complain of all I bore
--It is thy kismet, what
would'st thou have more?
My rivals also bear thy tyranny,

Saying--It is her custom and must be!
DAGH.
XVI.
I met you and the pain of separation was forgot,
And all I should have
kept in mind my heart remembered not.
What cruelty and scorn I in your bitter letters knew!
No love was
there; O Gracious One, have you forgotten too?
Strange is the journey that my soul by wanton Love was led, Two steps
were straight and clear, and four forgotten were instead.
There was some blundering o'er my fate at the Great Reckoning; You
have forgot, O Keeper of the Record, many a thing.
You took my heart, but left my life behind: O see you not
What thing
you have remembered, and what thing you have forgot?

To meet Annihilation's sword is the most happy lot
That man can
gain, for all the joys of earth has he forgot.
A Muslim on the path of Love beside a Kafir trod,
And one forgot the
Kaaba, one the Temple of his God.
DAGH.
XVII.
What happiness is to the lover left
Of peace bereft,
What freedom for his captive heart remains
Held in her chains?
Sometimes unto the mountain peaks he goes
Driven by his woes,
Sometimes within the barren wilderness
Hides his distress.
Curses on Love, and may his home disgraced
Be laid in waste!
To me the world and all the joys I sought
Are less than naught.
Gladly, O Executioner, to Death
I yield my breath;
And only wonder who shall after me
Thy victim be!
FIGHAN.
XVIII.
If you should meet the Loved One as you stray,
O give my letter

secretly to her,
Then haste away
And do not tell my name, O Messenger.
O Morning Winds that from the garden blow,
Should you meet one
like me forlorn and