I translated this poem in my freshman year for my English class:
This is a world of miracles for you.
But for me, this is the world of chances.
The world of fantasies is poor,
But poorer is the world of births and deaths.
It is no wonder that your gaze will change it all,
The world of possibilities is calling you.
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 even my eyes have run dried.
When I am dead, wind might take my dust to my destination. Because now I have no more willpower to keep going.
For whom are these preparations of welcome, who is this lover from the heaven? All I see is flowers, and nothing else.
My love has left me capable of nothing. Now I just wish to live quietly somewhere.
Asad, my poetry is for times past. It is useless to write, when no one understands.
This poem was written by my favorite poet Alama Iqbal. I translated it for a class during my freshman year.
“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 strived 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 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.
A sad poem by Mir Taqi:
Stop crying, this is just the beginning of love.
Hold on and see what will be next.
In the morning, voices were 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.
Time was more important than anything else in my life.
And Mir, I wasted my time foolishly.