The Portrait of Anguish

My story is not indebted to the patience of being heard My silence is my talk, my speechlessness is my speech

Why does this custom of silencing exist in your assembly? My tongue is tantalized to talk in this assembly

Some leaves were picked up by the tulip, some by the narcissus, some by the rose My story is scattered around everywhere in the garden

The turtle-doves, parrots, and nightingales pilfered away The garden’s denizens jointly robbed away my plaintive way

O Candle! Drip like tears from the eye of the moth Head to foot pathos I am, full of longing is my story

O God! What is the pleasure of living so in this world? Neither the eternal life, nor the sudden death is mine

This is not only my wailing, but is that of the entire garden I am a rose, to me every rose’ autumn is my autumn

“In this grief-stricken land, in life-long spell of the caravan’s bell I am From the palpitating heart’s bounties the silent clamor I have“

In the world’s garden unaware of pleasant company I am Whom happiness still mourns, that hapless person I am

Speech itself sheds tears at my ill luck Silent word, longing for an eager ear I am

I am a mere handful of scattered dust but I do not know Whether Alexander or a mirror or just dust and scum I am

Despite all this my existence is the Divine Purpose Embodiment of light is whose reality, that darkness I am

I am a treasure, concealed in the wilderness dust No one knows where I am, or whose wealth I am?

My insight is not obligated to the stroll of existence That small world I am whose sovereign myself I am

Neither wine, nor cup-bearer, nor ecstasy, nor goblet I am But the truth of everything in the existence’ tavern I am

My heart’s mirror shows me both world’s secrets I relate exactly what I witness before my eyes

I am bestowed with such speech among the elegant speakers That the birds of the ‘Arsh’s roof are concordant with me

This also is an effect of my tumultuous love That my heart’s mirrors are Destiny’s confidante

Your spectacle makes me shed tears, O India! Your tales are admonitory among all the tales

Conferring the wailing on me is like conferring everything Since eternity Destiny’s pen has put me where all your mourners are

O gardener do not leave even the rose-petals’trace in this garden! By your misfortune war preparations are afoot among the gardeners

The sky has kept thunderbolts concealed up its sleeve Garden’s nightingales should not slumber in their nests

Listen to my call, O imprudent one! This is something which The birds in gardens are reciting like the daily prayers

Think of the homeland, O ignorant one! Hard times are coming Conspiracies for your destruction are afoot in the heavens

Pay attention to what is happening and what is going to happen What good there is in repeating the tales of the old glories?

How long will you remain silent? Create taste for complaint! You should be on the earth, so your cries be in the heavens!

You will be annihilated if you do not understand, O people of India! Even your tales will disappear from the world’s chronicles

This is the law of Nature, this is the order of Nature Those who tread dynamism’s path, are the darlings of Nature

I will surely exhibit all my hidden wounds today I will surely change assembly to a garden with blood-mixed tears

I have to light every heart’s candle with hidden pathos I will surely create bright illumination in your darkness

So that love-cognizant hearts be created like rose-buds I will surely scatter around my handful of dust in the garden

If stringing these scattered pearls in a single rosary Is difficult, I will surely make this difficult task easy

O Companion! Leave me alone in the soulsearching effort As I will surely exhibit this mark of the ardent Love

I will show the world what my eyes have seen I will surely make you also bewildered like a mirror

The discerning eye sees every thing covered in veils It does see the exigencies of the nature of times

You have not acquainted your heart with pleasure of dignity You have passed your entire life in humility like foot-prints

You always remained entangled inside the assembly, but Have not acquainted yourself with the world outside the assembly

You have continued loving the charm of material beauties But you have never seen your own elegance in this mirror

Give up prejudice O imprudent one! In the world’s glass house They are your own pictures which you have taken as evil ones

Become embodiment of the wail of tyranny of life’s pathos! You have concealed sound in your pocket like the rue seed

Clarity of heart has nothing to do with external decorations O imprudent one! You have applied myrtle to mirror’s palm

Not only the earth even the sky is bewailing your imprudence It is outrageous that you have twisted the Qur’an’s lines!

To what purpose is your claim to monotheism! You have made the idol of self conceit your deity

What did you see even if you saw Yusuf in the well? O imprudent one! You have made the Absolute confined

You are greedy of flowery style even at the pulpit Your advice also is a form of story telling

Show that universally illuminating Beauty to your weeping eye Which renders the moth highly agitated, which makes the dew weep like eye

Mere seeing is not its purpose! O greedy one Some One has made the human eye with some purpose

Even if he viewed the whole world, what did he see? Jam could not see his own reality in the wine cup

Sectarianism is the tree, prejudice is its fruit This fruit caused expulsion of S Adam from Paradise

Not even a single rose‐petal could rise by sun’s attraction It is the longing for elegance which raises the dew

Those wounded by Love do not wander in search of cure These wounded ones themselves create their own cure

The heart gets complete illumination by the spark of Love The Tur’s flower bed is raised from the Love’s small seed

With the Bekhudi’s wine up to the celestial world is my flight From disappearance of color I have learnt to remain fragrance

How can the weeping eye refrain from homeland’s lamentation? The ‘ibadah for the poet’s eye is to remain constantly with ablution

To what purpose should we make our nest in the rose-branch Ah! How can we live with constant disgrace in the garden

If you understand, independence is veiled in Love Slavery is to remain imprisoned in the net of schism

Contentment is what keeps the cup submerged in water You should also remain like the bubble in the stream

It is best for you not to remain indifferent to yours own O apathetic person! If you want to remain alive in the world

Soul-invigorating wine is the Love of the human race It has taught me to remain ecstatic without the wine cup and the pitcher

Sick nations have been cured only through Love Nations have warded off their adversity through Love

The expanse of Love is at once foreign land and homeland This wilderness is the cage, the nest, as well as the garden

Love is the only stage which is the stage as well as the wilderness It is the bell, the caravan, the leader as well as the robber

Everybody calls it an illness, but it is such an illness In which the cure for all ills and misfortunes is concealed

The heart’s pathos in a way is to become embodiment of Light If this moth burns it is also the assembly’s candle

The Beauty is just one but appears in everything It is Shirin, the sky, as well as the mountain digger

Distinction of sects and governments has destroyed nations Is there any concern for the homeland in my compatriot’s hearts?

Prolonging the tale of my woes calls for silence, otherwise The tongue in my mouth as well as the ability to speak is

“Take not this meaningful tale as related by me is The story was endless, but related with silence is.”