Mirza Ghalib was the one of greatest poet in the Indian history. I translated this back in my college days.
I look at the joys of the world, as I look at the dust.
Crying used to give me peace but now my eyes have run dried.
When I am dead, wind might take my dust to my destination.
Because now I have no more energy to keep going.
For who are these preparation of welcome, who is this lover from heaven?
All I can see is flowers, nothing else.
My love has left me capable of nothing.
Now I just wish to live peacefully somewhere.
Asad, my poetry is for times past.
It is useless to write, when no one understands.
I was,
And I am.
So shall I be, to the end of time,
For I am without end.
I have cleft the vast spaces of the infinite, and
taken flight in the world of fantasy, and drawn nigh
to the circle of light on high.
Yet behold me a captive of matter.
I have hearkened to the teachings of Confucius,
and listened to the wisdom of Brahma, and sat
beside the Buddha beneath the tree of knowledge.
Behold me now contending with ignorance and
unbelieving.
I was upon Sinai when the Lord showed Himself
to Moses. By the Jordan I beheld the Nazarene’s
miracles. In Medina I heard the words of the
Apostle of Arabia.
Behold me now a prisoner of doubt.
I have seen Babylon’s strength and Egypt’s glory
and the greatness of Greece. My eyes cease not
upon the smallness and poverty of their works.
I have sat with the witch of Endor and the priests
of Assyria and the prophets of Palestine, and I cease
not to chant the truth.
I have learned the wisdom that descended on
India, and gained mastery over poetry that welled
from the Arabian’s heart, and hearkened to the
music of people from the West.
Yet am I blind and see not; my ears are stopped
and I do not hear.
I have borne the harshness of unsatiable
conquerors, and felt the oppression of tyrants and the
bondage of the powerful.
Yet am I strong to do battle with the days.
All this have I heard and seen, and I am yet a
child. In truth shall I hear and see the deeds of
youth, and grow old and attain perfection and
return to God.
I was,
And I am.
So shall I be, to the end of time,
For I am without end.
This poem was written by my Favorite poet Alama Iqbal. I translated it for a class during my freshman year at HCCC.
“The view up here is the same as ever.
We are tired of shining and shining.
Our work is to walk, day and night.
Walk and walk and walk forever.
Everything in this universe is anxious.
Peace, whatever it is, does not exist.
Everything is being tortured by time.
Stars, man, trees, rocks, Everything.
Will this journey ever end?
Will we ever see our destination?”
“My friends,” replied the moon,
“O travelers in the field of the night.
Life happens because of the movement.
This is the old culture of this universe.
Time’s horse flies.
Because it is hit by the lash of desires.
On this path, it is not possible to stop.
Because death is hidden within rest.
Those who struggled have left us behind.
And those who slept are crushed.
The end of this journey is true beauty.
It begins with true love and ends with true beauty.”
You are neither for this earth nor for that sky.
The world is for you; you are not for the the world.
This garden is the place for pain and prayer.
Not for picking flowers or for building a nest.
How long will you stay in the Ravi, Nile, and Farat?
Your ship was built for endless oceans.
It was nothing, what we have made it.
We made it more, just for our fantasies.
In the presence of the Beloved, a Lover recalled his ordeals:
“For you, I suffered all horrors in a long war.
Wealth has gone, and strength, and reputation;
because of my love
For you, many, many miseries have attacked me.
Not one dawn found me laughing, not one evening calm.”
Everything that he had tasted of desolation and despair
The Lover told his Beloved, detail by detail, point by point.
And not from revenge at all: he was only offering
A hunderd clear testimonies to the reality of his passion.
The Beloved replied, “Yes, you did suffer all those things.
But open your eyes wide now, and listen very carefully:
You have not accomplished at all what is the root of the root
Of love and fidelity; what you have done is only the branches.”
The Lover cried out: “Tell me, then, what is this root?”
Beloved replied: “to die to yourself and to be anihilated.”
“You did all the rest, ” Beloved added, “but still you are not dead.”
At once the Lover prostrated himself and gave up his soul.
Like the rose, he gave up his life, laughing and rejoicing,
And this laughter stayed with him, like a gift, for eternity.
—from Andrew Harvey’s book: Light upon Light
A Poem by Mir Taqi:
Stop crying, this is just the beginning of love.
Hold on and see what will be next.
In the morning, there were voices in the caravan.
Let’s move on and let the sleeper sleep.
On this ground nothing can grow.
Please stop planting seeds of wishes in your heart.
These are marks of true love, they remain forever.
It is not possible to wash them away from your heart.
This time was more important than anything else in my life.
And Mir, I wadted my time foolishly.
I found some of old translations I did for one of my class I thought I might as well put it up here…
Poem by Mir Dard
It was a school or temple, or it was Makkah or church.
We were all guests, only you were the host.
Oh! How sad it is. I found just before death.
It was only a dream, what I saw. It was only a fairytale, what I heard.
It is sad to say autumn is in the garden.
There was some grass, which was my friend.
This place is going crazy with all these people coming and going.
My heart used to be the place for your peace.
It is useless to remember them, try to be happy.
Dard, it is not important if they remember me or not.
Delve deep into your buried Self, and find the clue to life,
If you cannot be mine then be not, but be your own;
World of soul- a world of fire, ecstasy and longing,
World of body- a world of gain, fraud and cunning;
The treasure of the spirit once again gained is never lost again,
The treasure of the body is a shadow- wealth comes and goes ;
In the world of soul I have found no Frankish rule,
In that world no Sheikh or Brahmin I have seen;
This saying of the Qalandar poured shame and shame on me;
When you kneel to anothers might neither body nor soul is your own.
Note: Iqbal uses the Qalandar as a symbol for the evolved man who has realized in himself the truth of self-development.
From Glory of Iqbal, Syed Abul Hasan Ali Nadwi.
This translation was taken from Jaihoon.com.
Iqbal is one of the greatest poets. His poetry really inspires uninspired like me.
As I turn back, my eyes dampen
When I realized my incomplete life
My life became evident to me
Broken promises
Deserted dreams
Broken promises
Seek time’s tender shade
Yesterday too, was in ruins
Now its deserted as well
Life asks for a moment of support
Damp memories
Won’t let me sleep due to grief
Damp memories
Won’t let me live
This is one of my favorite poem. This is my humble attempt to translate it in English.
—————-
O my friend the heart needs no hate.
Everyone loves good but do not even hate bad.
Who does not want the softness of flowers?
But do not be afraid of sharpness of thorns.
There is same blood in the veins of the thorn.
It is brought up by same evening breeze of the spring.
*
Do not throw away dying flowers.
Yesterday, they were the beauties of the garden.
Once they were also part of the world of scents.
O passerby! Do not kick dust on their leaves.
Though they are no longer in the party.
They were raised in the laps of the morning breeze.
*
Living or not living, all are basically one.
Earth and heavens, both were made from one.
There are millions of idol, but God is one.
All hearts are different, but feeling is one.
They sell same clothes, but shops are different.
The meanings are the same, but the languages are different.
*
The lightkeeper is also human.
And the one who is lost in the dark sea is also human.
The best friend is also human.
And the worst enemy is also human.
It doesn’t matter if you run away from death or life.
But, O Human! Never run away from human.
