The Royal Cementery

The sky is clothed in the cloud’s old tattered robe The mirror of moon’s forehead is somewhat gloomy

The moon light is pale in this silent panorama The dawn is sleeping in the lap of the night

How astonishing is silence of the trees This silence is the soft tune of Nature’s harp

The heart of every speck of the universe is pathos embodied And the silence is a sad sigh on the lips of existence

Ah! That fort, that universal mustering ground Is carrying millennia’s weight on its shoulders

Was full of life at one time, now is desolate This silence is the cemetery of its past elegance

It is the lover of the remains of its old denizens It is standing on the mountain top like a sentinel

There from the cloud’s window above the sky’s roof That young green star is viewing the universe

The earth’s vast expanse is a mere child’s play to it The story of Man’s failure is known to it by heart

This traveler is going to his destination since eternity Seeing revolutions’ spectacles from the sky’s seclusion

Though quiescence of the star is not possible in the universe It has stopped momentarily for saying prayer for the dead

This earth is full of flowers of life’s variegations This earth is the cemetery of many destroyed civilizations

p class="maani"> This grief-stricken stage is the resting place of kings O admonished eye! Pay the tribute of rosy tears

Though a mere cemetery, this dust ranks with the sky Ah! this is the wealth of an unfortunate nation!

So astounding is the grandeur of mausoleums That the spectator’s eye evades even winking

Such an expression of failure is in this picture Which is impossible to reflect in description’s mirror

Far from the habitations’ crowds are sleeping Those who were restless with unfulfilled ongings

The grave’s darkness holds the brilliance of those suns At whose thresholds the sky used to remain prostrating

Is this the end of these emperors’ magnificence? Whose diplomatic policies knew no decline

Be it the grandeur of Qaisar or Faghfur’s sway The foe of death’s assault cannot be turned away

The result of kings’ life‐efforts also is the grave The last stage on path of magnificence is the grave

Neither the happy assembly’s commotion nor the genius’ talk Not even the wailing people’s whole night’s compassion!

Neither the tumult of the sword in the battle! Nor the cry of blood warming Takbir!

No call can wake up those who are sleeping No life can return to the desolate breast

The soul in the handful of dust is enduring injustice When breath enters non-existence’ flute it is a mere complaint

Human life resembles the sweet singing bird, which Sat on the branch a while, chirped, flew away

Ah! For what purpose did we come in the world, for what purpose did we go away! Sprouted from the life’s branch, blossomed, faded away

Death is interpretation of the dream of the king and the poor alike This atrocious one’s terror is the picture of justice

The stream of life is a boundless ocean And the grave is a wave of this boundless ocean

O ambition! Shed tears of blood as this life is unreliable It is the smile of the spark, it is the flammable straw

But in the frightening vastness of the starless sky Its helplessness is worth watching at time of dawn

What was the moon is a mere piece of cloud Whose destruction is in the last tear drop

Similarly unpredictable is the life of nations Their glory is a picture of the happy times gone by

In this world no nation however prestigious it may be Can continue its existence till the end of time

So much accustomed to nations’ destruction is the universe That it watches this scene with indifference

Nothing stays the same without change The universe’ nature is made of change

The beauty of world’s jewel is in everchanging names The mother earth has always remained expecting new nations!

This highway is acquainted with thousands of caravans Kohinur’s eye is familiar with innumerable kings

Egypt and Babylon are annihilated, not a mark remains The roll of existence does not have even their names

The evening of death has overpowered the sun of Iran Time has robbed the grandeur of Greece and Rome

Ah! The Muslim also from the world similarly departed The azure cloud appeared over the horizon, rained and departed

The rose petal’s vein is a string of pearls with dawn’s tears Some ray of the sun is enmeshed in the dew

The river’s breast is the cradle for sun’s rays How beautiful is the sun’s sight at the river bank!

Juniper is busy in beautifying, river is the mirror For the flower bud spring breeze is the mirror

The cuckoo remains calling from the garden’s nest Remains hidden from the human eye in the leaves’ privacy

And the nightingale, the flowery singer of the garden By whose presence is alive the glory of the garden

Is a living picture of the commotion of Love How beautiful is this picture from Nature’s pen! holding

In the garden the roses silent assemblies are holding The shepherd boys’ shouts in the valley are echoing

This old world is so full of life That in death also is hidden the zest of life

The petals fall in autumn in the same way As toys fall from the sleeping infant’s hand

In this cheerful world though luxury is limitless One grief, that is grief of the Millat is always fresh

Memories of the age gone by are still fresh in our heart This Ummah cannot erase its kings’ memories form its heart

These desolate mansions are excuses for shedding tears Insight has developed in the eye with continuous tears

We give to the world the pearls of the weeping eye We are the remaining clouds of a storm gone by

There are hundreds of pearls in this cloud’s breast Thunder still lurks in this cloud’s silent breast

It can change the dry wilderness to a flowery vale It can change the farmer’s hope from slumber to awakening

The manifestation of this nation’s majesty has passed But the manifestation of its beauty has not yet passed