Amir Khusro in Love

Main To Piya Se Naina Laga Aayi Re



Hey, I’ve just had an affair with my darling,
Don’t care what the neighbourhood girls say;
Just had an affair with my darling.
Oh, his beautiful face, charming like an idol,
I’ve just made a place in the bottom of his heart.
I, Khusrau, give my life to Nizamuddin in sacrifice,
I’ve just heard him call me his most favourite disciple;
Don’t care what the neighbourhood girls say,
I’ve just had an affair with my darling.



Main to piya say naina lada aayi ray,
Ghar naari kanwari kahay so karay,
Main to piya say naina lada aayi ray.
Sohni suratiya, mohni muratiya,
Main to hriday kay peechay samaa aayi ray;
Khusrau Nijaam kay bal bal jayyiye
Main to anmol cheli kaha aayi ray,
Ghar naari kanwari kahay so karay,
Main to piya say naina lada aayi ray.

(from :



Mora jobana navelara 


My youth is budding, full of passion;
How can I spend this time without my beloved?
Would someone please tell Nizamuddin for me,
The more I appease him, the more annoyed he gets;
My youth is budding……
I want to break these bangles in the bed,
And throw my blouse into the fire,
The empty bed scares me,
The fire of separation keeps burning me.
Oh, beloved. My youth is budding.


lovers ona pyrre persianmin





Mora jobana navelara, bhayo hai gulaal,
Kaisi dhar dini bikas mori maal.
Mora jobana navelara…….
Nijamudin aulia ko koyi samajhaaye,
Jyon jyon manaon, wo to rootha hi jaaye.
Mora jobana navelara……
Chudiyan phod palang pe daaron,
Is cholee ko doon main aag lagaai.
Sooni saij darawan laagay, virah agni mohay dus dus jaaye
Mora jobana navelara…

(From :

indian couple


It’s Spring Again!

Amir Khusro wrote several poems about Basant, a pre-Islamic Panjabi/South Asian/Hindu festival celebrating the arrival of spring by flying kites, wearing yellow, carrying yellow flowers. A legend goes that Amir Khusro’s shaykh, Nizamuddin, was mourning the death of his nephew when Amir Khusro came with a whole Basant procession to cheer him up. Chisti Sufis have celebrated Basant ever since.



Rejoice in the spring, beautiful bride,
Rejoice in the spring today.
Put make-up on your face and lashes
And comb your long hair.
You’re still dead sleep,
Get up, beautiful bride.
Destiny is knocking on your door,
Enjoy this spring, O bride.

A snobbish lady with arrogant looks,
That’s what you are.
The king of Amir, on seeing you,
Will cast glances of love towards you.

The spring is here again,
Rejoice in the spring today.



Aaj basant manaalay suhaagun,
Aaj basant manaalay;
Anjan manjan kar piya mori,
Lambay neher lagaaye;
Tu kya sovay neend ki maasi,
So jaagay teray bhaag, suhaagun,
Aaj basant manalay…..;
Oonchi naar kay oonchay chitvan,
Ayso diyo hai banaaye;
Shaah-e Amir tohay dekhan ko,
Nainon say naina milaaye,
Suhaagun, aaj basant manaalay.


Aaj Rang hai


Translation (of chorus and final section of the qawwal)

What a colour, oh what a colour
Oh beloved, please dye me in yourself;
Dye me in the colour of the spring, beloved;
What a glow, Oh, what a glow.



Main to aiso rang aur nahin dekhi ray
Main to jab dekhun moray sung hai,
Aaj rung hai hey maan rung hai ri.


Mohe apne hi rang mein



Colourful, come dye me in your own hue
You are my lord, Beloved of God
Dye me in your hue.
My scarf, and my love’s turban,
Both need to be dyed in the hue of spring;
Whatever be the price for dyeing, ask for it,
You can have my blossoming youth as payment;
Dye me in your hue.
I have come and fallen at your door step,
For you to protect my honor
You are my Lord, Oh beloved of God,
Dye me in your hue.





Mohay apnay hi rung mein rung lay,
Tu to saaheb mera Mehboob-e-Ilaahi;
Mohay apnay hi rung mein……
Humri chundariya, piyaa ki pagariya,
Woh to donon basanti rung day;
Tu to saaheb mera …….
Jo kuch mangay rung ki rungaai,
Mora joban girvi rakhlay;
Tu to saaheb mera…….
Aan pari darbaar tehaaray,
Mori laaj saram sab rakh lay;
Tu to saaheb mera Mehboob-e-Ilaahi,
Mohay apnay hi rung mein rung lay.




Sakal Bhun (The Yellow Flower)



The yellow flower is blooming in every field,
Mango buds are clicking open, other flowers too;
The koyal chirps from branch to branch,
And the maiden tries on her make-up,
The gardener-girls have brought bouquets.
Colourful flowers of all kinds,
In hands everyone’s bringing;
But the colour-lover, who had promised to come
To Nizamuddin’s house in spring,
Hasn’t turned up – its been years.
The yellow flower is blooming in every field.


Sakal bun phool rahi sarson,
Sakal bun phool rahi…..
Umbva phutay, tesu phulay, koyal bolay daar daar,
Aur gori karat singaar,
Malaniyan gadhwa lay aayin karson,
Sakal bun phool rahi…..
Tarah tarah kay phool lagaaye,
Lay gadhwa haathan mein aaye.
Nijamudin kay darwazay par,
Aawan keh gaye aashaq rung,
Aur beet gaye barson.
Sakal bun phool rahi sarson.






another beautiful song by Amir Khusro in the same Raag Bahar (springtime mode):

Hazrat Khwaja sung khayliye Dhamal



Let us play Dhamal with Hazrat Khwaja,
Everyone dresses up, the twenty two saints have come,
So let us play Dhamal;
Give respect to our exalted Messenger.
We celebrate spring for you, Oh Arab friend.
Keep the colourful spirit alive for ever.
Let us play Dhamal with Hazrat Khwaja.

(Dhamal could be a song or a musical genre that aroused ecstasy amongst the Sufis. It was usually performed at special occasions such as Basant.)




Hajrat khaja sung khailiye dhamal,
Hajrat khaja sung…….
Baais khaja mil bun bun aaye,
Taamay hajrat Rasool saheb-e jamaal
Hajrat khaja sung khailiye…….
Arab yaar tori basant manaayo,
Sadaa rakhiyo laal gulaal…..
Hajrat khaja sung khailiye dhamal.






Mughal Floral Miniature mughal_flower_aa63

Hazrat ‘Alī in Nusrat’s Qawwals


Many of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s greatest qawwal performances feature lyrics about ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib, probably originally deriving from the song, “Man Kuntu Mawla,” attributed to Amir Khusrow (d. 1325). Bulleh Shah (d. 1757) is said to have modified this song to create the popular qawwal “Mast Qalandar” in honor of the Sufi saint Lal Shahbaz Qalandar (d. 1274) whose tomb in Sindh (pictured below) attracts thousands of pilgrims every year.

‘Ali plays an important role in virtually all Sufi orders as the first link in the initiatic chain from the Prophet, and whether Sunni or Shi’a, Sufi poets around the world have praised ‘Ali for his sanctity, knowledge, and spiritual perfection. Like the Prophet, ‘Ali remains a living presence in Sufism, especially in Qawwali music.


Dam Mast Qalandar


Partial Translation:

“Intoxicated, intoxicated
Upon My breath and in my intoxication is the great Qalander.
My worship and upon my breath is the name of Ali.
I am intoxicated with the beloved Qalander
I am intoxicated with Jhoole Laal who is intoxicated with Qalander
Keep repeating his name you follower of Ali
You Ali !!! Keep saying his name.”




Ali Maula Ali Dam Dam

Man Kunto Maula


Shah e Mardan / Haqq Ali Ali Ali Maula Ali Ali

Lyrics and Translation of Haq Ali Ali 

Ali imaam-e-manasto manam Ghulaam-e-Ali
hazaar jaan-e-giraamii fidaa-e-naam-e-Ali

Ali is the master of all, I am the slave of Ali
a thousand lives are to be sacrificed for Ali

Haidariam qalandaram mastam
bandaa-e-Murtaza Ali hastam
peshvaa-e-tamaam virdaaram
ke sage kuu-e-sher-e-yazdaanam

I belong to the Lion of God
I am an intoxicated ecstatic wandering dervish
I am a slave of Ali the Chosen One
I am the leader of all the drunkards
As I am a dog in the street of the Lion of God 

kabhii diivaar hiltii hai, kabhii dar kaaNp jaataa hai
Ali kaa naam sun kar ab bhii Khaibar kaaNp jaataa hai

Sometimes the wall shakes, sometimes the door trembles
upon hearing the name of Ali, the fort of Khaibar trembles even now.

(During the battle of Khaybar, Ali rooted out the heavy door of the fort and used it as his shield.)

shaah-e-mardaaN Ali
Ali Ali Ali
Ali Maula Ali

King of the brave men, Ali
Ali Ali Ali
Ali, [my] master Ali.

patthar pe alam deen ka gaaRaa jisne
lalkaar kar Marhab ko pichaaRaa jisne

[One] who planted the flag of faith on the rocks
[One] who challenged Marhab and defeated him.

Ali Ali Ali
Ali Maula Ali

[The] truth!
Ali Ali Ali
Ali, [my] master Ali

jap le jap le mere manvaa
yahii naam sacchaa hai pyaare
yahii naam tere sab dukh haare
isii naam kii barkat ne diye raaz-e-haqiiqat khol

my heart! chant this
[as] this is the name that is true.
This is the name that removes suffering
[and] the auspiciousness of this name opened the secrets of being.

shaah-e-mardaaN Ali
la fataa illah Ali
sher-e-yazdaaN Ali

King of the brave, Ali.
There is no hero except Ali
[and] the lion of God is Ali.

tan par Ali, Ali ho zubaaN par Al Ali
mar jauuN to kafan par bhii likhna Ali Ali

My body chants Ali, so does my tongue
[and] when I die, then write Ali on my shroud.

baGhair hubb-e-Ali mudd’aa nahiiN miltaa
ibaadatoN kaa bhii hargiz silaa nahiiN miltaa
Khudaa ke bandoN suno Ghaur se Khudaa kii qasam
jise Ali nahiiN milte use Khudaa nahiiN miltaa

Without the love of Ali, desire is not fulfilled
not even the prayers are answered.
O! slaves of God listen carefully, by God!
One who does not realizes Ali does not realize God.

basad talaash na ab kuch vus’at-e-nazar se milaa
nishaan-e-manzil-e-maqsuud raahbar se milaa
Ali mile to mile Khaana-e-Khudaa saa hameN
Khudaa ko dhuuNdha to vo bhi Ali ke ghar se milaa

Don’t search for anything now, match the eternal search
match the footprints of the desired destination with guide
to get Ali is like getting a house of God
searching for God too, we found Him in Ali’s house.

diid Haider kii ibaadat, hai ye farmaan-e-nabii
hai Ali ruuh-e-nabii, jism-e-nabii, jaan-e-nabii
gul-e-tathiir Ali
haq kii shamshiir Ali
piiroN ke piir Ali

The sight of Ali in itself is prayer, so said the Prophet
Ali is the soul, body and life of the Prophet
Ali is the purified flower
Ali is the sword of the truth
Ali is the saint of the saints.

dast-e-ilaa kyuuN na ho sher-e-Khudaa Ali
maqsuud har ataa hai shah-e-laa-fataa Ali
jis tarah ek zaat-e-Muhammad hai be-misaal
paidaa hu’aa na hogaa ko’ii duusraa Ali
“Bedam” yahii to paaNch haiN maqsuud-e-qaaynaat
Khairunnisaa, Hasan, Hussain, Mustafaa, Ali

At the door of God why not be like the Lion of God.
Every intention has a reward, the King of the Victorious is Ali
Like the progeny of Muhammad is unique and unmatchable
There is none born nor ever will be, like Ali
These five are indeed the reason of creation;
the best of women (Fatima, the prophet’s daughter), Hasan, Hussain (Ali’s sons), Mustafa (Prophet Muhammad), Ali

Ali Ali Ali
Ali Maula Ali

[The] truth!
Ali Ali Ali
Ali, [my] master Ali



How many nights…

radha under the moon




By God, how many nights I have spent
in the sweetness of life, apart from the watchman
Drinking my wine with the beloved as my companion
as the glasses of love’s joys go ’round
I reached by goal, beyond whatever I had hoped
Longing, though it be perfect, for this pleasure to stay with me forever




فلِلّهِ، كَم من لَيلَة ٍ قد قَطَعتُها                   بِلَذّة ِ عيشٍ، والرّقيبُ بِمَعزلِ
ونقلي مدامي والحبيبُ منادمي                وأقداحُ أفْراحِ المَحَبّة ِ تَنجَلي
ونلتُ مُرادي، فوقَ ما كنتُ راجياً،            فواطَرَبا، لو تَمّ هذا ودامَ لي

Amir Khusrau



Many nights I was with a moon, where have all those nights gone?
Night has come again, but now it’s black from the smoke of my cries
Happy where the nights I spent with her, sometimes drunk, sometimes giddy
My world goes dark when I remember those nights
I repeat the tale of her eyebrows and lashes over and over again
just like children reciting the surah of “Nun wa qalam” at school
What would happen if one night she asked a lonely stranger beneath her walls
how he passes these lonely nights?
Come, you who are the life of every form,
let lovers—forms without life—live again in your alley
Even though you’ve taken my heart and soul, look at me
See how nicely that smile came from those lips into these eyes
Don’t grieve for your life Khusrau, though the Friend slays you
For the beautiful faced ones have so many sects that act like this.


hookah under the blankets



بسي شب با مهي بودم کجا شد آن همه شبها                             کنون هم هست شب، ليکن سياه از دود ياربها
خوش آن شبهاکه پيشش بودمي گه مست و گه سرخوش                جهانم مي شود تاريک چون ياد آرم آن شبها
همي کردم حديث ابرو و مژگان او هر دم                               چو طفلان سوره نون والقلم خوانان به مکتبها
چه باشد گر شبي پرسد که در شبهاي تنهايي                            غريبي زير ديوارش چگونه مي کند شبها
بيا، اي جان هر قالب که تا زنده شوند از سر                           به کويت عاشقان کز جان تهي کردند قالبها
اگر چه دل بدزديدي و جان، اينک نگر حالم                            چه نيکو آمد آن خنده، درين ديده ازان لبها
مرنج از بهر جان، خسرو، اگر چه مي کشد يارت                     که باشد خوبرويان را بسي زين گونه مذهبها


The path to the well is rough…




Two more gems from Amir Khusrau, Bahut kathin and Tori Surat:

Bahut kathin


The path to the well is too rough
How can I fill my pitcher?
When I went to fill my pitcher with water
In my rush, I broke my pot.
Khusro has given his whole life to you, O Nizam.
Would you please protect the honor of my veil
The path to the well is too rough






Bahut Kathin hai dagar panghat ki,
Kaisay main bhar laaun madhva say matki?
Paniya bharan ko main jo gayi thi,
Daud jhapat mori matki patki.
Bahut kathin hai dagar panghat ki.
Khusro Nizam kay bal bal jayyiye
Laaj rakho moray ghoonghat pat ki.
Bahut kathin hai dagar panghat ki.










Tori Surat







Seeing your face, Oh Nijaam
I am ready to die for you
Amongst all the girls, my scarf is the most soiled,
Look, the girls are laughing at me.
This spring, please dye my scarf for me,
Oh Nijaam, protect my honour.
In the name of Ganj-e Shakar (Nizamuddin Aulia’s pir),
Protect my honour, Oh beloved Nijaam.
Qutb and Farid have come in the wedding procession,
And Khusrau is the loving bride, Oh Nijaam.
Some have to fight with their mother-in-law,
others fight with their sisters-in-law,
But I have you for support, Oh Nijaam.
and everyone knows this
Seeing your face, Oh Nijaam
I am ready to die for you




Tori surat ke balihari, Nijaam
Sab sakhiyan mein chundar mori mailee,
Dekh hansain nar naari,
Ab ke bahar chundar mori rang de,
Piya rakh lay laaj hamari, Nijaam.
Sadqa baba Ganj-e-Shakar ka,
Rakh lay laaj hamari, Nijaam.
Qutab, Farid mil aaye barati,
‘Khusrau’ raajdulaari, Nijaam.
Kouo saas kouo nanad say jhagday,
Hamko aas tihaari, Nijaam.
Tori surat ke balihari, Nijaam.




Or. 14290, f.1v

Clouds cry


Transliteration (first lines)

Abr mi barad-o man shovm-e az yar-e judaa
Choon kunam dil becheneen roz zedildar judaa.
Abr baraan wa man-o yar satadah ba-widaa’
Man judaa girya kunaan, abr judaa, yaar judaa


The cloud weeps, and I become separated from my friend –
How can I separate my heart from my heart’s friend on such a day.
The cloud weeping – and I and the friend standing, bidding farewell –
I weeping alone, the clouds alone, the friend alone….
The new sprouts, the joyous air, the bright green garden
and the black-faced nightingale, parted form the roses
Ah poor me, bound to every strand of your hair
what are you doing, pulling me apart, limb from limb
My eyes rain down tears, for you the pupil of my eye
Stand firm, don’t be swept away on this flood of tears
I will no longer need the gift of sight
after my eyes are parted from the gift of your sight
My eyes crack from weeping over you
Quick, take clay from your path
and fill the parting cracks in the wall
Don’t go, I will give you my soul
If you don’t believe me, if you want more, take it and keep it
Your beauty won’t last long after you’ve left Khusro
The rose doesn’t last long apart from the throrn




ابر می بارد و من می شوم از یار جدا
چون کنم دل به چنین روز ز دلدار جدا
ابر و باران و من و یار ستاده به وداع
من جدا گریه کنان، ابر جدا، یار جدا
سبزه نوخیز و هوا خرم و بستان سرسبز
بلبل روی سیه مانده ز گلزار جدا
ای مرا در ته هر موی به زلفت بندی
چه کنی بند ز بندم همه یکبار جدا
دیده از بهر تو خونبار شد، ای مردم چشم
مردمی کن، مشو از دیده خونبار جدا
نعمت دیده نخواهم که بماند پس از این
مانده چون دیده ازان نعمت دیدار جدا
دیده صد رخنه شد از بهر تو، خاکی ز رهت
زود برگیر و بکن رخنه دیوار جدا
می دهم جان مرو از من، وگرت باور نیست
پیش ازان خواهی، بستان و نگهدار جدا
حسن تو دیر نپاید چو ز خسرو رفتی
گل بسی دیر نماند چو شد از خار جدا


Compare with Bob Marley’s “Stand Alone”:



Every night, every day

Lyrics and


Har shab manam futada, Ba girde sarai e tou
Har roz ah o nala kunam az barai e tou


Every night have I fallen, around the circle of Thy tavern
every day, do I wail and cry, in yearning of Thee 

 Jana ba iin shakista dil-bewafa ma shou
Umre guzasht ta shuda am aashina e tou


O Love, turn not thy gaze from this broken hearted one
for a lifetime has been spent, in getting to know Thee 

Rozay ke zarra zarra shavad, ustakhan-e-man
Ba shad hanoz dar dil-e-veesham hava e tou


when my bones are nothing but shattered bits
may my heart carry on its quest of Thee

 Bar hal-e-zar-e-man nazar-e-kun ze raahay lutf
Tu Badshah-e-husni o Khusrau gada e tou


 Let thy Grace fall on my blighted self
Thou art the Lord of Grace, and Khusrau but a beggar of Thee 


Recital: Taj Muhammad Shad Muhammad Nasir Niazi Qawwal
Video credit: Mahera Omar, Karachi
English translation ~ Farrokh Namazi





Two Ghazals from Hafez

I’ve quoted from these before, but here are two of my favorite ghazals in their entirety:

(If the videos on the other pages on this site don’t appear for you, try emptying your cache and reloading the page)







The outward ascetic has no knowledge of our state
          Whatever he says about us, there’s no room for disagreement
Whatever happens to the traveler of the Path is for his own good
           No one is lost on a straight path
Depending on how the game goes, we may move a pawn
          The king has no chance on the gangster’s chessboard
What is this lofty ceiling, plain or many-patterned?
          No wise person in the world can solve this mystery
O Lord what manner of proud grandeur and power is this?
          There are so many hidden wounds, and no space for a sigh…
It seems our bookkeeper doesn’t know the account
          For nothing in the ledger is for the sake of God’s reward

cieling Lotfollah


زاهد ظاهرپرست از حال ما آگاه نیست
در حق ما هر چه گوید جای هیچ اکراه نیست
در طریقت هر چه پیش سالک آید خیر اوست
در صراط مستقیم ای دل کسی گمراه نیست
تا چه بازی رخ نماید بیدقی خواهیم راند
عرصه شطرنج رندان را مجال شاه نیست
چیست این سقف بلند ساده بسیارنقش
زین معما هیچ دانا در جهان آگاه نیست
این چه استغناست یا رب وین چه قادر حکمت است
کاین همه زخم نهان هست و مجال آه نیست
صاحب دیوان ما گویی نمی‌داند حساب
کاندر این طغرا نشان حسبه لله نیست
هر که خواهد گو بیا و هر چه خواهد گو بگو
کبر و ناز و حاجب و دربان بدین درگاه نیست
بر در میخانه رفتن کار یک رنگان بود
خودفروشان را به کوی می فروشان راه نیست
هر چه هست از قامت ناساز بی اندام ماست
ور نه تشریف تو بر بالای کس کوتاه نیست
بنده پیر خراباتم که لطفش دایم است
ور نه لطف شیخ و زاهد گاه هست و گاه نیست
حافظ ار بر صدر ننشیند ز عالی مشربیست
عاشق دردی کش اندربند مال و جاه نیست






 No one has seen your face, and yet a thousand rivals seek you
        Although you’re still a bud, a hundred gazelles entreat you
Although I’m far from you, may no one ever be far from you
         I still hope that I can be united with you soon
If I come to your home, it is not so strange
         There are thousands of strangers like me in this land
In love there is no difference between the Sufi lodge and the tavern
         Everywhere that is is illumined by the light of the beloved’s face
Wherever they are performing the rites of the abbey
         There is rule of the monastery the name of the cross
Whoever became a lover without the friend glancing at him?
         O Master, there is no pain, otherwise there are many physicians
Hafez’s cry was not in vain after all
         It is a strange story and a wondrous tale




روی تو کس ندید و هزارت رقیب هست
در غنچه‌ای هنوز و صدت عندلیب هست
گر آمدم به کوی تو چندان غریب نیست
چون من در آن دیار هزاران غریب هست
در عشق خانقاه و خرابات فرق نیست
هر جا که هست پرتو روی حبیب هست
آن جا که کار صومعه را جلوه می‌دهند
ناقوس دیر راهب و نام صلیب هست
عاشق که شد که یار به حالش نظر نکرد
ای خواجه درد نیست وگرنه طبیب هست
فریاد حافظ این همه آخر به هرزه نیست
هم قصه‌ای غریب و حدیثی عجیب هست



Compare with Amir Khusro’s Ghazal:


I am the slave of that face which no one is allowed to see
          mad for tresses that no one can pass by, nor is allowed to touch
A thirsty flame licks my breast, and displays in the distance
          a drink, which no one’s allowed to taste.
Whether or not I look at him, I don’t have long to live,
        My friend, is this any time to not allow looking?
Hundreds of hearts and eyes await your arrows
          How is it that it’s only unlucky me they’re not allowed to hit?
Lord what agony this captive bird must feel!
          when they won’t accept its sacrifice, nor its flight allow
Let me hear a single word and I’ll give up my soul
          Isn’t it forbidden for me to die without ever being allowed to hear?
My breast was torn to a hundred shreds, my heart is cut to a hundred pieces
            Why won’t these ignorant fools allow me to take off these tattered clothes?
Khusrau was pierced hundred of times by cruel thorns of separation
              Will he ever be allowed to pluck a rose from your garden?



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من بنده آن روي که ديدن نگذارند
ديوانه زلفي که کشيدن نگذارند
از تشنگيم شعله زنان سينه و از دور
شربت بنمايد و چشيدن نگذارند
چون زيستني نيستم، ار بينم و ار ني
اي دوست، چه وقت است که ديدن نگذارند؟
صد ديده و دل منتظر تير تو، فرياد
کش با من بيچاره رسيدن نگذارند
يارب، چه عذابي ست برين مرغ گرفتار؟
بسمل نپسندند و پريدن نگذارند
گفتم سخني بشنوم و جان دهم اکنون
محروم بميرم، چو شنيدن نگذارند؟
صد چاک شده سينه و صد پاره شده دل
اين بي خبران جامه دريدن نگذارند
امروز صبا از جگرم بوي گرفته ست
زنهار کزان سوش وزيدن نگذارند
صد خار جفا خورد ز هجران تو خسرو
آه، ار گلي از روي تو چيدن نگذارند


Fire on the mountain

Ibn al-Fāriḍ



Don’t consider me to be a pretender in love
my affection for you is natural, without affectation
Even if my spirit were in my hands, I would hand it over
to the one who announces your arrival, and it’d still be a bargain


You are my duties and my voluntary prayers
You are my speech and my works
O the direction of my prayers when I pray
Your beauty is what my eyes see
to it I turn my totality
your secret is in the depths of my consciousness
my heart is the mountain where God manifested Himself
I glimpsed a fire in the neighborhood by night and I told my people
I said, “stay here and perhaps I’ll find my guidance there.”




لا تحسبوني في الهوى متصنعا           كلفي بكم خلق بغير تكلّف
لو أن روحي في يدي ووهبتها              لمبشري بقدومكم لم أنصف


أنتمْ فروضي ونفلي         أنتمْ حديثي وشغلي
يا قِبْلَتي في صَلاتي،           إذا وَقَفْتُ أُصَلّي
جَمالُكُمْ نَصْبُ عَيني           إليهِ وجَّهتُ كلِّي
وسِرّكُمْ في ضَميري،      والقَلْبُ طُورُ التّجَلّي
آنَسْتُ في الحَيّ ناراً         ليلاً فبشَّرتُ أهلي
قلتُ امكثوا فلعلِّي           أَجِدْ هُدايَ لَعَلّي



Envy of the ancient idols…




O you whose beautiful face is the envy of the idols of Azar
(Abraham’s father and famous idol maker);
However I describe you, your beauty is still lovelier.
All over the world have I traveled;
many a maiden’s love have I tasted;
Many a beauty have I seen; but you are something unique.
I have become you, and you me; I have become the body,
you the soul; So that none hereafter may say
that “I am someone and you are someone else.”
Khusro, a stranger, has come to your town as a wandering beggar
For God’s sake, have pity on this beggar
and do not turn him away from your door.

Ay chehra-e zeba-e tu rashk-e butan-e azari;
Har chand wasfat mikunam dar husn-az-aan zebatari.
Aafaq ra gar deedah am mehr-e butan warzeedah am;
Bisyar khuban deedah am lekin tu cheez-e degari.
Man tu shudam, tu man shudi, man tan shudam, tu jan shudi;
Taakas nagoyad baad azeen man deegaram tu deegari.
Khusrau ghareeb ast-o gada uftadah dar shehr-e shuma;
Baashad ki az behr-e khuda, su-e ghareeban bangari.



ای چہرہ زیبای تو رشک بتان آزری
ہر چند وصف می کنم در حسن زاں بالا تری

تو از پری چا بک تری ، و ز برگ گل نازک تری
و ز ہر چہ گوئم بہتری ، حقا عجائب دلبری

تا نقش می بندد فلک ، ہر گز ندادہ ایں نمک
حوری ندانم یا ملک، فرزند آدم یا پری

عالم ہمہ یغمای تو ، خلقی ہمہ شیدای تو
آں نرگس شہلای تو آوردہ رسم کافری

آفاقہا گردیدہ ام مہر بتاں ورزیدہ ام
بسیار خوباں دیدہ ام لیکن تو چیزی دیگری

ای راحت و آرام جان با قد چوںسرورواں
زینساں مرو دامن کشاں کا رام جانم می پری

من تو شدم تو من شدی، من تن شدم تو جان شدی
تا کس نہ گوید بعد ازیں من دیگرم تو دیگری

خسرو غریب است و گدا افتادہ در شہر شما
با شد کہ از بہر خدا سوی غریباں بنگری
امیر خسرو
Amir Khusro