Last night distraught I wandered here and there,
All up and down Love’s City sick at heart,
Till lo! I found myself all unaware
Caught in the tangles of my Laila’s hair.
And all her raven tresses manifold
Entangled me around, and sudden bold
I grew, and being careless of my fate
My mouth I buried in her lips’ pure gold.
And like a bee that pillages the tips
Of every crimson hyacinth and sips
Sweet honey from its petals—thus I lay
Drunk with the perfume of her honey-lips.
Said she: ‘Thou art my heart’s own love, I swear,
But those who trespass on this raven hair,
And rob the down from off these golden cheeks,
Must of the goodman of the house beware.
‘He is a jealous watchman over me,
And Lord of all my dark locks’ witchery.
he is my tyrant, and exceeding wrath,
And goeth about seeking to murder thee.’
‘Let come what may,’ said I, ‘while thou art near
Thy locks protect me like a keen drawn sword.
Give me thy lips and this night without fear
I’ll wander in that wilderness of hair.’
Said she: ‘All else is folly; Love is best,
I will unlock the garden of my breast;
But thou, I know, will walk disdainfully,
And soon forget the lips that thou hast pressed.’
‘Ah cruel one,’ said I, ‘unjust thou art;
The arrows of thine eyes have pierced my heart;
I am thy humble slave; thou knowest well
That never from thy side will I depart.’
‘Hearken, ye hireling poets, do ye dare
Dispute my monarchy? Ye fools, beware;
For I am crowned with Laila’s sovereign love,
And sceptred with a lock of Laila’s hair.’
Translated from the Punjabi by C.F. Usborne