This poem was translated by Professor Carlo Coppola as part of the MULOSIGE Translations project. You can explore our collection of Urdu Poetry here.
Nazr-i k̲h̲ālidah / Offering to Khalida
The heart is mad today with excess happiness.
See who is here. She who bedecks the chamber.
The tavern is drowned in the ecstasy of the wine of pleasure;
Every tree is a cup-bearer, every flower a wine glass.
The buds and flowers were the same, but they did not have this beauty.
Spring had not come before with such gusto to this garden.
.
Drunkenly the narcissus is enjoying pleasant sleep;
From the rose and eglantine has burst forth a pleasure flood;
It is hard for the people assembled here to restrain their delight;
Today grape-wine happiness will overflow the glasses.
The hidden sentiment is stirring its wings to fly forth.
Every atom is restless to dance.
.
The soul-exhilarating fragrance may not come this way again;
We may not again be blessed with such a scene and such a breeze.
O sweet-throated singer, pluck your instrument so that
Its each and every string will break.
The idol being talked about in the chamber of Venus and the Pleiades
Is today in our temple.
.
O Halida, you are the spring of the Turkish paradise;
Your forehead mirrors the light of freedom;
The innocent reflection of Mary is visible on your face;
The angels are put to shame by the brightness of your radiance,
The rose repentant; the nightingale’s heart rent in two out of envy;
In your speech is the intoxication of Kauser and Tasnim.
.
Although we were the moths on every candle of knowledge and science,
It is a reality that we were also made for you.
For a long time, stories about you stayed on our lips;
You were a stranger, but we were not.
For a long time, memory of you was in our hearts;
Even before coming here, you were in this assembly.
.
A tumult of longing and a flood of beauty and light,
Every bud is an instrument of pleasure; every glance a plectrum.
Eyes are bewildered, the soul of the people of fidelity is restless;
Is it a dream or its interpretation?
What is there to say of tulips, roses?
Even the garden sacrifices itself at your feet;
These pearls of poetry are an offering at your feet.
.
~~~
.
O sacred houri, O you who are nurtured by the wave of the breeze,
A spirit of the pleasure house of the shore, soul of the great flood!
You have sown the straight path for the Turks;
You have consumed the ancient veils of prejudice.
Whenever the nature of freedom-lovers showed weakness,
Your pearl-studded speech has rained fire.
.
In your hand has been unsheathed a sword
Whose movement changed Turkey’s system of government;
To the fallen Turk you gave permission to move;
It was your hands which made the wine glasses of freedom overflow.
The favours that you have bestowed upon freedom-loving nations
Are still inscribed on the doors and walls of Smyrna.
.
O spirit of the supplicants, tell us
How the distinction of colour and blood is eliminated?
How the secrets of freedom are unravelled to the heart?
How the instruments of awakening are struck in the assembly?
Your eyes hold the ecstasy of the people’s pleasure;
Alas, this essence is beyond our reach!
.
Confidant of pain and happiness, knower of the secrets of morning and evening,
The silence of nature’s assembly converses with you;
Your existence is the full moon of the Turkish sky;
You are Love, and your every breath is a message of that Love;
In the garden of the East you have come like a breeze;
You have brought the soul-reviving message of the bright dawn.
.
Ask the thorns how life-giving the proximity of the rose is!
Ask the stars how pleasurable moonlight is!
Ask the drinkers about the delight of wine’s intoxication of wine!
Ask the sick what pleasure there is in being nursed!
May your radiance illuminate our soul and heart!
May your messianic powers do at least that much!
.
Any moment now we will be going out of this garden;
We will have to walk on live coals far from the rose beds;
We will have to trample underfoot the thorn fields of pain;
We will have to fall and rise on the way to our destination.
Give us a lesson so that our heart may not be disappointed with the goal,
So that our search may not be futile, our cares may not be false.
1933
.
From: Āhang (Melody; 1938). Dihlī: Āzād Kitāb Ghar. 1956. pp. 34 – 38
The heart is mad today with excess happiness.
See who is here. She who bedecks the chamber.
The tavern is drowned in the ecstasy of the wine of pleasure;
Every tree is a cup-bearer, every flower a wine glass.
The buds and flowers were the same, but they did not have this beauty.
Spring had not come before with such gusto to this garden.
.
Drunkenly the narcissus is enjoying pleasant sleep;
From the rose and eglantine has burst forth a pleasure flood;
It is hard for the people assembled here to restrain their delight;
Today grape-wine happiness will overflow the glasses.
The hidden sentiment is stirring its wings to fly forth.
Every atom is restless to dance.
.
The soul-exhilarating fragrance may not come this way again;
We may not again be blessed with such a scene and such a breeze.
O sweet-throated singer, pluck your instrument so that
Its each and every string will break.
The idol being talked about in the chamber of Venus and the Pleiades
Is today in our temple.
.
O Halida, you are the spring of the Turkish paradise;
Your forehead mirrors the light of freedom;
The innocent reflection of Mary is visible on your face;
The angels are put to shame by the brightness of your radiance,
The rose repentant; the nightingale’s heart rent in two out of envy;
In your speech is the intoxication of Kauser and Tasnim.
.
Although we were the moths on every candle of knowledge and science,
It is a reality that we were also made for you.
For a long time, stories about you stayed on our lips;
You were a stranger, but we were not.
For a long time, memory of you was in our hearts;
Even before coming here, you were in this assembly.
.
A tumult of longing and a flood of beauty and light,
Every bud is an instrument of pleasure; every glance a plectrum.
Eyes are bewildered, the soul of the people of fidelity is restless;
Is it a dream or its interpretation?
What is there to say of tulips, roses?
Even the garden sacrifices itself at your feet;
These pearls of poetry are an offering at your feet.
.
~~~
.
O sacred houri, O you who are nurtured by the wave of the breeze,
A spirit of the pleasure house of the shore, soul of the great flood!
You have sown the straight path for the Turks;
You have consumed the ancient veils of prejudice.
Whenever the nature of freedom-lovers showed weakness,
Your pearl-studded speech has rained fire.
.
In your hand has been unsheathed a sword
Whose movement changed Turkey’s system of government;
To the fallen Turk you gave permission to move;
It was your hands which made the wine glasses of freedom overflow.
The favours that you have bestowed upon freedom-loving nations
Are still inscribed on the doors and walls of Smyrna.
.
O spirit of the supplicants, tell us
How the distinction of colour and blood is eliminated?
How the secrets of freedom are unravelled to the heart?
How the instruments of awakening are struck in the assembly?
Your eyes hold the ecstasy of the people’s pleasure;
Alas, this essence is beyond our reach!
.
Confidant of pain and happiness, knower of the secrets of morning and evening,
The silence of nature’s assembly converses with you;
Your existence is the full moon of the Turkish sky;
You are Love, and your every breath is a message of that Love;
In the garden of the East you have come like a breeze;
You have brought the soul-reviving message of the bright dawn.
.
Ask the thorns how life-giving the proximity of the rose is!
Ask the stars how pleasurable moonlight is!
Ask the drinkers about the delight of wine’s intoxication of wine!
Ask the sick what pleasure there is in being nursed!
May your radiance illuminate our soul and heart!
May your messianic powers do at least that much!
.
Any moment now we will be going out of this garden;
We will have to walk on live coals far from the rose beds;
We will have to trample underfoot the thorn fields of pain;
We will have to fall and rise on the way to our destination.
Give us a lesson so that our heart may not be disappointed with the goal,
So that our search may not be futile, our cares may not be false.
1933
.
From: Āhang (Melody; 1938). Dihlī: Āzād Kitāb Ghar. 1956. pp. 34 – 38
Leave A Comment