If you are coming to me now, why come at all?

I agree that you are the very picture of attraction,

That in time’s garden, you are the spirit of its embellishments,

That you are the appearance of the moon, the glory of paradise,

That you, daughter of the moon, are sky-descended.

There is now a fear of disgrace in meeting me.

I’ve received this punishment for my own actions.

Ah, I’ve rubbed my youth into the dust;

I’ve burned my youth in fire;

I’ve lost my youth in the city of the beloveds;

I’ve conjured my youth in bedchambers.

Whenever beauty has dropped me a kind glance, 

My pledges of love lay down their shields.

In those days I was overcome by a madness of great fury; 

My head was overcome by an intoxication of pleasure;

I was overcome by love-madness for those pieces of the moon; 

I was overcome by a madness of rivalry with potentates.

My world was a bed of velvet and ermine; 

My world was a multi-coloured, beautiful dream; the paradise of desire 

Was untouched by the disaster of the rapacious desert wind;

When pain is not pain, then there is no need to seek cures.

In my bold eyes the stars of the sky were like dust motes;

In my eyes the gathering of the Pleiades was a crowd of slave girls.

The Laila of coyness would come, veil lifted;

Carrying an invitation of dreams in her eyes, she would come.

I thought stones were rare, precious gems,

The thorn-filled desert a fresh paradise;

I thought sand was a chain of moving water.

Ah! I had not yet known this secret:

A defeat is hidden in my every victory;

A secret of grief and unfulfilled desires hide in my every happiness.

You won’t be able to hear the call of my wounded youth,

My heart-rending cry, my lamentation,

My words drowned in an intensity of pain;

I, who myself am the victim of my attitude that is pleasure-rich.

From where am I to bring that pathos of my late heart? 

From where am I now to bring that innocent emotion?

You should fear my shadow; you should fear my nearness;

Swear by your own boldness that you would fear my boldness;

If you are subtle, fear my subtlety;

Fear my promises; fear my love.

Now I’m not worthy of generosity and attention;

I’m not faithful – yes, I’m not faithful.

If you’re coming to me now, why come at all?

          1945

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From:  Āhang (Melody; 1938). Dihlī: Āzād Kitāb Ghar. 1956. pp. 234 – 35