Classic Poem

I'll make garlands of flowers
And fill cups of wine for you,
For to think of you is ecstasy !
O, leave your frowns and come !

I hear you are at Zabarwan,
With your bow strung for game.
I'll row across from Naseem Bagh,
To offer my head for your aim.

The thrush and the lark sing of my grief
At being torn from you !
O. who will play you this symphony,
My sweetheart, when I'm gone ?

I bloomed in the forest as a Shravan jessamine,
Lying ever in wait for you !
You haven't seen my summer bloom;
I'll fade with the autumn wind !

You hid yourself, and wasted me.
Who whispered what to make you cold ?
But I'll pursue you as a mendicant,
Since I cannot stay away !

I collected my heart's blood crystals,
Preserved them all night long,
As remembrances and souvenirs
With which I shall adorn your collar.

I'll come out, not afraid
Of hostile talk and taunts,
And quite unabashed, tell every one
Whose love has consumed me thus.

Separation withered up the yemberzal,
But love has brought her back I
She will love you over again,
Offering her eyes at your feet !

Mahjoor pleads you come again,
Stay a while and talk to him.
He will play on royal harps
And sing new songs for you !

[Translated by: Triloki Nath Raina]