Tonight is the night of the city. Should I wander about useless and sad 

Like a vagabond? Should I walk about bright, animated streets?

Strangers all about. How long am I to be kicked from door to door?

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do? 

.

.

A chain of glittering lights on the road, 

A picture of day in night’s hands; 

But a heated sword in my chest.

.

 

This silver-coated shade, this star net in the sky, 

Like a sufi’s imagination, the thoughts of a lover; 

But who understands my heart’s mood?

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

That star broke away again; again, a sparkler lit; 

Who knows into whose lap this strand of pearls fell? 

A pang arose in my chest, a blow fell upon my chest.

.

 

Night laughs and says: Go to the tavern,

Then to the home of some beauty whose face is like a poppy. 

If impossible, then, friend, go to the wilderness.

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

Colour and beauty scatter at every side; 

Pleasure yawns erotically at every step; 

Disgrace rushes to me with open arms;

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

I usually do not stop for breath,

Nor turn around and return;

It is fated that I find no one.

.

 

A typhoon of evil awaits me;

Who knows how many doors are still opened for me?

But my promise of fidelity was for me a curse,

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

It occurs to me that I should break that promise of fidelity too,

Break this hope of ever finding her; 

Yes, it is right; I should break these wind-chains.

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

~~~

.

That wan moon rose from behind the palace

Like a mullah’s turban, like a baniya’s ledger,

Like a beggar’s youth, the youth of widows;

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

A flame rose in my heart. What should I do?

My wine cup overflowed. What should I do?

My heart effused a beautiful aroma. O my heart’s solitude, what should I do?

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

I feel I should tear down the dead moon and stars,

Tear them down on this side and that.

Why just one side or two? I should pull down them all.

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

Before my eyes: begging, this scene,

Hundreds of tyrants,

Hundreds of Jenghis Khans and Nadir Shahs;

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

 

I should grab the dagger from Jenghis’s hands, break it?

I should shatter the gems set in his crown? 

Whether it should be someone else or not–I should come forward, break it.

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what to do?

.

I should step forward and set afire the ornaments of rich people’s gatherings,

Set fire to this one’s garden, that one’s boudoir. 

What’s a king’s throne? I should set the king’s whole palace ablaze; 

O heart’s sorrow, what should I do? O my heart’s solitude, what should I do?

.

 

            1937

From: Āhang (Melody; 1938). Dihlī: Āzād Kitāb Ghar. 1956. pp. 84 – 87

Āvārah  is quoted in full in Urdu Poetry, 1935-1970