This poem was translated by Professor Carlo Coppola as part of the MULOSIGE Translations project. You can explore our collection of Urdu Poetry here.
Faryād / Lament
Nobody tells anyone what they’ve lost.
No one recalls what their heart went through;
Life’s bitter wine jars are closed in the heart;
Nobody uses their tongue to say what sorrow is;
In every wound is a wound; in every sorrow, a sorrow.
Thorns rest in someone’s eyes; flowers, in another’s eye;
Somewhere there is the place of roses, somewhere, of attar;
This land thirsts for every drop.
.
From: Bisāt̤-i raqṣ (Dance Carpet). Ḥaidarābād, Inḍiyā: Istiqbāliyah kameṭī jashn-i Mak̲h̲dūm, 1966. p. 225
Nobody tells anyone what they’ve lost.
No one recalls what their heart went through;
Life’s bitter wine jars are closed in the heart;
Nobody uses their tongue to say what sorrow is;
In every wound is a wound; in every sorrow, a sorrow.
Thorns rest in someone’s eyes; flowers, in another’s eye;
Somewhere there is the place of roses, somewhere, of attar;
This land thirsts for every drop.
.
From: Bisāt̤-i raqṣ (Dance Carpet). Ḥaidarābād, Inḍiyā: Istiqbāliyah kameṭī jashn-i Mak̲h̲dūm, 1966. p. 225
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