Classic Poem

That the blood in my veins still courses, this even a grief I hold;
That in the grave are all my friends, I yet in my house I deem a wrong.
Since so many noble faces have all in their tombs turned to dust.
Could I but join them there, as Paradise were to me the grave!
Old age has come, a weakling I, in this the proof,
That which I do succeeds not, though my people and land are the same.
When I speak any one fair, to his heart he takes it ill;
Either fortune is for the Moghals, or my reason is failing me now.
No! it is not the luck of the Moghals, nor is my reason less;
It is all the fault of old age, that my plans do not succeed.
When I look at the Moghals, not as before are they;
Past is the day of their fighting; now they cleave to the pen.
With gold and fair promises it is now that they beguile the Pathans;
Yet such is the mercy of God from me have they naught yet attained.
No Fly am I or Vulture, that over carrion should be my hover;
As a Falcon or an Eagle in its own prey my heart rejoices.
Were the others in this like me, right hearty would be my rejoicing;
But since in this they have no part, in grief is my heart now plunged.
Acmal and Darya Khan, both have passed away nobly in honour:
Ever in grief and sorrow is Khush-hal at the loss of them both.