So long as he was on the horizon, we never thought 

That in this darkness there is also a ray of light, 

This darkness of hatred, the enemy of the heart.

Thousands and millions of stars arise 

.

To float on dark night’s bosom,

And then when, in the dawn deluge, 

They sink, never to be found.

But when this tiny star, this point of light

Which was heart-rendered and also restless, 

Set and lighted up, it became the sun.

Poor and helpless, humble, penniless, and indigent,

Sincere, sunk in humility,

He had received the nobility of a painful heart.

. 

He had not been bestowed a ruler’s position and pomp, 

Nor worldly wealth, only the pride of poverty; 

He was a tear drop, his capital: 

Only love’s pain, only sorrow’s wealth.

.

And his last gift is this legacy of sorrow,

This burden will be borne with the same submission and humility.

.

The legacy of man’s sorrow, the legacy of the heart’s sorrow,

Is a candle like the torch of the sun and moon;

If it is not there, how can there be light in one’s time?

It is a flower which blossomed in the wound garden;

It bathed in martyrs-blood rain;

It bathed in the dew of the desire for peace and security.

.

It is also the red flower on Tashkent’s bosom;

It is known as the rose of Lahore’s brow

Which is now scenting Delhi’s lapel.

.

Rise, now the festival of heart and soul will be celebrated;

In every garden this flower will be made to bloom; 

This flower, which is love’s pain, sorrow’s legacy,

This flower, bright, blood-soaked and despairing, 

Which is the god of love and also the messenger of peace.

.

12 January 1966

.

From: Pairāhan-i sharar (Garment of Fire), 1965. pp. 97 – 99

Amānat-i g̲h̲am is quoted in full in Urdu Poetry, 1935-1970