Vo intizaar thaa jis-kaa, ye vo sahar to nahiiN,
Ye vo sahar to nahiiN jis-kii aarzu lekar
Chale the yaar ke mil-ja`egi kahiiN na kahiN
Falak ke dasht meN taroN kii aakhiri manzil,
KahiN to hogaa shab-e sust mauj kaa sahil,
KahiN to jaake rukegaa safiina-e-gham-e-dil.
JawaaN lahu kii pur-asraar shaahrahoN se
Chale jo yaar to daaman pe kitne hath paRe;
Diyaar-e-husn kii be-sabr khwaabgaahoN se
Pukaarti-rahiiN baahen, badan bulaate-rahe;
Bahut ‘aziiz thii lekin rukh-e-sahar ki lagan,
Bahut qariin thaa hasiinaN-e-nuur kaa daaman, ,
Subuk subuk thii tamannaa, dabii dabii thii thakan.
Sunaa hai ho bhii chukaa hai firaaq-e-zulmat-o-nuur,
Sunaa hai ho bhii chukaa hai visaal-e-manzil-o-gaam;
Badal-chukaa hai bahut ahl-e-dard kaa dastuur,
Nishaat-e-vasl halaal o ‘azab-e-hijr haraam.
Jigar kii aag, nazar kii umang, dil kii jalan,
kisii pe chaara-e-hijraaN kaa kuchh asar hii nahiiN.
KahaaN se aa’ii nigaar-e-sabaa, kidhar ko ga’ii?
Abhii charaagh-e-sar-e-rah ko kuchh khabar hii nahiiN;
Abhii giraanii-e-shab meN kamii nahiiN aa’ii,
Najaat-e-diidaa-o-dil ki ghaRii nahiiN aa’ii;
Chale-chalo ke vo manjil abhii nahiiN aa’ii
****
This leprous daybreak, dawn night’s fangs have mangled –
This is not that long-looked-for break of day,
Not that clear dawn in quest of which those comrades
Set out, believing that in heaven’s wide void
Somewhere must be the stars’ last halting-place,
Somewhere the verge of night’s slow-washing tide,
Somewhere an anchorage for the ship of heartache.
When we set out, we friends, taking youth’s secret
Pathways, how many hands plucked at our sleeves!
From beauty’s dwellings and their panting casements
Soft arms invoked us, flesh cried out to us;
But dearer was the lure of dawn’s bright cheek,
Closer her shimmering robe of fairy rays;
Light-winged that longing, feather-light that toil.
But now, word goes, the birth of day from darkness
Is finished, wandering feet stand at their goal;
Our leaders’ ways are altering, festive looks
Are all the fashion, discontent reproved; –
And yet this physic still on unslaked eye
Or heart fevered by severance works no cure.
Where did that fine breeze, that the wayside lamp
Has not once felt, blow from — where has it fled?
Night’s heaviness is unlessened still, the hour
Of mind and spirit’s ransom has not struck;
Let us go on, our goal is not reached yet.
translated by V.G. Kiernan
