After a little while, when my lonely heart will worry about

How it should remedy its loneliness,

Pain will come on silent feet carrying a red lamp,

That pain which throbs somewhere beyond the heart.

When the flame of sorrow will burst in my chest,

Every impression will shine in the wall of my heart:

.

Somewhere the circle of tresses, somewhere the corner of the cheeks;

Somewhere the plain of separation; somewhere the garden of union;

Somewhere the word of kindness; somewhere the agreement of love.

.

Again, I will talk to my heart: O heart, my heart,

The one whom you’ve made the beloved of your loneliness,

She was only a guest for a moment; she will go away;

When can she be the cure of your trouble;

The wild shadows will rise up right away, angry, fired up;

      She will go away and all that will remain will be the shadow of him

With whom you will be engaged in a bloody conflict all night.

.

O heart! This is war, not children’s play!

Everyone is the enemy of life; everyone is a killer;

This hard night, these shadows, this loneliness—

There is no connection between the pain [of love] and war, O heart.

Bring the brazier of passion and wrath; kindle it.

Where is the bold fire of anger—bring it!

Where is it? Bring the flaming garden

With its heat as well as movement and strength.

Surely some army of our clan must be waiting

On the other side of the ramparts of darkness;

The war songs of the flames will signal that we are here;

Well, they may not meet us; at least they will tell us

How far off the dawn still remains.

.

            Montgomery Jail  ∙  1 December 1954

      

.

From: Zindān̲ nāmah (Prison Narrative). Dihlī: Kabīr Buk Ḍipo. 1955. p. 67

Dard āʼegā dabe pāʼon̲ is quoted in full in Urdu Poetry, 1935-1970