O Weaver of Excuses, what to thee

O Weaver of Excuses, what to thee
Are all the promises that thou hast made,
The truth derided, and the faith betrayed,
And all thy perfidy?

Sometimes thou sayest — Come at eventide:
And when the evening falls, thou sayest — Dawn
Was when I called thee. Even when night is gone
I wait unsatisfied.

When in thy haughty ear they did commend
Me as the faithfullest of all thy train,
Thou saidst — I hold such lovers in disdain,
I scoff at such a friend.

O Mischief-maker, passing on thy way
So lovely is thy mien, all creatures must
Cry out — It is debarred to things of dust
To walk so winningly.

Why shouldst thou keep from tyranny anew?
Why shouldst thou not betray another one?
What matter if he die? Thou hast but done
What thou wast born to do.

Who cares not for his heart nor for his creed
Is the idolater. His worthless name
Is Dagh. O Fair Ones, look upon his shame!
He is disgraced indeed.
Author of original: 
Nawab Mirza Khan Dagh
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.