Obsession

I understand not whence this madness has come to me!Where I received a sharp rebuke last eve, I've come and stand, this morn, to see.

A tremor is in my eyes, I cannot look that way, Oh, I am dying from the mere gaze of your glance.

So smitten are we by one spring of captivating grace,No dust in our grave, save for the flower's bright trace.

Of your non-arrival, I was quite certain, Yet day and night, to the threshold, I repeatedly returned.

The consciousness does not subside, but when he arrives, he does not come.

The pain of love that does not leave me, / I too am disheartened, as if afflicted by the sickness of love.

Desire, with this habit, laments without cease,The heart's state, even breathing robs it of peace.

Oh, such is my desert-roaming passion, that even after death, Within my shroud, my feet still stir and move themselves.

How long shall I remain captive to this grief-filled thought, Lest the Mughal-descendants steal the spark of your fate?

From the heart, the passion for your lovely face has not departed, Nor has the act of gazing upon it ever ceased.

All my senses, patience, pride, and power departed, But you, O stain of the heart, did not leave.

In thought, the madness for the beloved's eyelashes resides,A hundred life-veins, like a path, to a lancet-field it yields.

Again and again, I go to his door, My condition is one of deep unrest.

All the beauty, the roses, the flowers, they were there, but to us, only that face remained pleasing.

The form of the Guru is like the Moon, and the servant's eyes are like the Chakora bird. They keep watching, for eight cycles of time, the direction of the Guru's form.

The gaze, sir, is not one that can be lifted from her, But rather, it is the dust upon her sole that casts its spell.

Though dead, my eyes remained wide open, Who else could keep them so, with longing to see?

Majnun's imaginings hold sway among the wild;The pupil of the gazelle's eye is Laila's mole reflected.

Who is not fond of you, nor to this extent, I have fallen ill in that very thought.

Only that place, only that waist is desired, Nothing else is in our thoughts now.

Why does my blood not settle, my eyelids are restless, every phrase remains mine, They do not leave my eyes, the beloved's captivating lips.

When I was walking, I remembered your lips, Losing myself in this very heart, I found you again.

It is not difficult for us, that the path of her street, Even if it is a hundred leagues from our heart.

In my heart, I recall your dark locks and visage so much, It makes me weep, both in the morning and in the evening.

Even if he dies, he won't let go of this much, he will stop in the trap of your love.

My thought again races over every rose and tulip,Having made a hundred gardens the provision for my gaze.

My heart seeks once again that leisure, night and day,To sit absorbed in thoughts of the beloved, come what may.