The mirror, empty of sense and knowledge,

How shall we turn its non-being into being?

Being is dependent upon the rush of nights and days.

How shall we show the mirror its own heart?

.

We cry on the useless expanse of the mirror’s heart

Bare of foliage,

And the newly-sprung flower, without smell! 

Men are adorned with eyes, lips and ears,

But deprived of the pleasure of commotion and of the light of “I” and “you”!

Here, wine cannot flow like tears,

Nor even the brightness of intoxication;

No beauty of revolt in the purity of the mirror’s heart,

Nor is its void the road of thought!

.

The mirror, empty of sense and knowledge.

How shall we turn its non-being into being?

The mirror is a sea

Stilled by the magician’s hand at the start of time;

Reflections force their way, hoping!

The magic of the secluded heart might break because of them 

And this deathly silence might be shattered!

.

The mirror in its mysterious world

Listens to the dripple of time-dew dripping;

It sees the reflection, but falls tongue-tied

Like a buried city!

How shall we turn its non-being into being,

This mirror, empty of sense and knowledge?

.

With Munibur Rahman

.

From: Lā = insān. (X = Man). Lāhaur: Munīr Niyāzī, 1969. pp. 73 – 75