Translated from the Urdu by M. Hadi Husain V. G. Kiernan Zeenut Ziad
The Houri and the Poet
The Houri:*
You neither relish wine nor even look at me.
Strange that you do not know the ways of amity.
In every song you sing, in every breath you draw,
There is a quest, a pining for things yet to be.
O what a fair world you have fashioned with your song.
It makes me feel as if Heaven were illusory.
The Poet:
You neither relish wine nor even look at me.
Strange that you do not know the ways of amity.
In every song you sing, in every breath you draw,
There is a quest, a pining for things yet to be.
O what a fair world you have fashioned with your song.
It makes me feel as if Heaven were illusory.
When I rise, having quaffed a cup of vernal wine,
I sing a song of yet another spring to be.
I seek the end of that which has no end at all
With ever-hopeful heart and never-wearied eye.
The hearts of lovers die in an eternal Heaven—
With no grief, none to share it with, no plaintive cry.
Translated by M. Hadi Husain
Heaven and the Priest
Being present myself, my impetuous tongue
To silence I could not resign
When an order from God of admission on high
Came the way of that reverend divine;
I humbly addressed the Almighty: Oh Lord,
Excuse this presumption of mine,
But he’ll never relish the virgins of heaven,
The garden’s green borders, the wine!
For Paradise isn’t the place for a preacher
To meddle and muddle and mangle,
And he, pious man—second nature to him
Is the need to dispute and to jangle;
His business has been to set folk by the ears
And get nations and sects in a tangle:
Up there in the sky is no Mosque and no Church
And no Temple—with whom will he wrangle?
Translated by V. G. Kiernan
God’s Command to the Angels
Rise up!
The poor of My world—awaken them!
Shake the palace walls!
Thrill captive blood with the heat of conviction
Let the gentle sparrow defy the falcon.
The rule of the people is close at hand
Erase all trace of the ancient Raj!*
The field that cannot feed the peasant
Set it on fire!
Who dares to obscure the Creator?
Banish this priest from My church!
Prostrate to Truth, circumambulate the idols
Blow out the lamps of the temples and mosques!
These marble slabs offend me!
Build Me a House of sticks and mud
Like crystal, this new age is dazzling and brittle
Teach the ways of Intoxication to the Poet of the East.
Translated by Zeenut Ziad