Wednesday, April 22, 2009

With the thought of tomorrow,Mirza Ghalib

Be not niggardly today,O Saqi;
This would be disrespectful
To the Saqi of Paradise.
Why have we become so contemptible
Today, when till yesterday ,
Our honour did not tolerate
The impudence of the angel.
Listening to sweet music, why does it seem
That one's life is draining away?
Is it because we hear His voice
In the notes of the lute and the rebeck?
The steed of age is galloping;
Let us see where it will stop;
The hand does not hold the rein
And the foot is not in the stirrup.
I am as far removed
From my own reality
As my twisting and turning
Stems from the thought of the other.
The reality of the sight of God,
The one who sees, and what is seen,
All in effect are one; I am amazed
Then, what is all this witnessing?
The sea's substance consists of
The shifting appearance of forms;
What then is in the drop,
And the bubble, and the wave?
Coyness, even with oneself
'Is but a form of dalliance;
How many unveiled ones
Go about covered by a veil?
The adorning of her beauty
Leaves no time for ease;
Even beneath the veil, her mirror
Constantly confronts her.

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