First Voice

.

Now there is no further chance for struggle; the subject of soaring aloft has already ended;

Nooses have already been thrown upon the stars; there’s already been a night attack on the moon;

Why should we now make a pact with these eyes for some future?

With what dream should we comfort our ignorant heart.

The sweetness of lips, the perfume of the mouth are no longer symbols of love;

The freshness of the heart, the pleasure of the eye are no longer medicine for life;

Forget about stories of living. What, by being entangled in them, shall we gain?

Only the business of death remains; whenever we want, we will bring an end to that business.

This is your shroud; that, my shroud; this, my grave; that one, yours. 

.

Second Voice

.

——The endless wealth of life is neither your possession nor mine;

If the torch of our heart is wounded in this assembly, if it glitters, so what?

This assembly remains illuminated; if just one niche is laid waste, so what?

Even if your days are depressed, the behaviour of night and dawn has not changed;

The paces of the rose’s season have not stopped; the beauty of the sun and moon still exist.

The valley of ringlets and lips is inhabited; the flowery path is still fresh and beautiful;

The delight of the heart’s pain is distributed [to all]; the favour of the tearful eye still exists;

Thank this tearful eye; thank the appreciative glance!

Thank this night and dawn; thank that sun and moon!

.

First Voice

.

——If this is the way of the sun and the moon, what will become of this sun and moon?

What will happen to the beauty of the night, to the beauty of dawn?

Heart blood has become ice water; eyes have become dressed in steel;

What will become of this tearful eye, of this appreciative glance?

The ten of poetry has become ashes; the pegs of melody smashed;

Where will this musical instrument try to sound again? What will happen to this pearl pen?

The corner of the cage has been our home; the iron collar and the rope our garment.

Whether the season of the rose has come or not, what will become of this heart pain?

.

Second Voice

.

While these hands are intact, while heat runs in this blood,

While truth is in the heart, while there is strength in this tongue,

You and I will teach the frenzy of the lyre and flute to those iron collars and ankle chains,

And teach such frenzy that the tumult of Caesar and Xerxes’ drumming is nothing before it;

Our every moment is an age; our every future is today.

This evening and dawn, this sun and moon, the stars and more brilliant stars are ours?

The slate and the pen, this drum and banner, this wealth and glory all are ours.  

    .

From: Dast-i ṣabā (Hand of the Wind). Dihlī: Senṭral Buk Ḍipo, 1952. pp. 29 – 32