Ghazal
Siyahi Jaise Gir Jaa.e Dam-e-tahrir Kaghaz Par
सियाही जैसे गिर जाए दम-ए-तहरीर काग़ज़ पर
This ghazal laments the dark fate of separation, vividly comparing the agonising nights of parting to indelible ink spilled across paper. It captures the melancholic despair of loneliness alongside the intense, burning passions of love and desire.
Source: rekhta · HI
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1
सियाही जैसे गिर जाए दम-ए-तहरीर काग़ज़ पर
मिरी क़िस्मत में यूँ तस्वीर है शब-हा-ए-हिज्राँ की
As ink spills across the paper at the moment of writing, so in my destiny is sketched the darkness of parting's nights.
Just as ink spills across the paper at the moment of writing, in the very same way, the dark nights of separation are etched into my destiny.
2
कहूँ क्या गर्म-जोशी मय-कशी में शोला-रूयाँ की
कि शम-ए-ख़ाना-ए-दिल आतिश-ए-मय से फ़रोज़ाँ की
How shall I tell of the fiery-faced beauties' fervor in drinking wine, for they lit the candle of the heart's abode with the liquor's blazing fire.
How can I describe the fervor of the radiant-faced beauties in drinking wine, as they lit the candle of the heart's chamber with the fire of the wine.
3
हमेशा मुझ को तिफ़्ली में भी मश्क़-ए-तीरह-रोज़ी थी
सियाही है मिरे अय्याम में लौह-ए-दबिस्ताँ की
Even in childhood I was practiced in dark misfortune; the blackness of my days is merely the ink from my school slate.
Even in my childhood, I was always practicing misfortune; the darkness of my days is merely the ink from my school slate.
4
दरेग़ आह-ए-सहर-गह कार-ए-बाद-ए-सुब्ह करती है
कि होती है ज़ियादा सर्द-मेहरी शम्अ-रूयाँ की
Alas, my dawn sigh merely does the work of the morning breeze—for it only deepens the cold indifference of the candle-faced beloved.
Alas, my morning sigh merely does the work of the dawn breeze, for it only increases the cold indifference of the candle-faced beloveds.
5
मुझे अपने जुनूँ की बे-तकल्लुफ़ पर्दा-दारी थी
व-लेकिन क्या करूँ आवे जो रुस्वाई गरेबाँ की
I sought with effortless grace to veil the madness of my soul, / But what could I do when my torn collar bared my shame to all?
I effortlessly tried to conceal the madness of my love, but what can I do when my torn collar itself brought me public disgrace?
6
हुनर पैदा किया है मैं ने हैरत-आज़माई में
कि जौहर आइने का हर पलक है चश्म-ए-हैराँ की
Such mastery have I attained in testing wonder's art, that every lash of my marveling eye turns to the mirror's grain.
I have developed such mastery in experiencing wonder that every eyelash of my astonished eye has become like the grain of a mirror.
7
ख़ुदाया किस क़दर अहल-ए-नज़र ने ख़ाक छानी है
कि हैं सद-रख़्ना जूँ ग़िर्बाल दीवारें गुलिस्ताँ की
O Lord, how thoroughly have the discerning sifted through dust, that the garden walls, breached with a hundred holes, have become like a sieve!
O Lord, how tirelessly have the discerning searched through the dust, such that the garden walls have hundreds of holes and look just like a sieve.
8
हुआ शर्म-ए-तही-दस्ती से से वो भी सर-निगूँ आख़िर
बस ऐ ज़ख़्म-ए-जिगर अब देख ले शोरिश नमक-दाँ की
Ashamed of its empty hands, even it bowed its head at last; / Enough, O wound of the heart, behold the frenzy of the salt-cellar now!
Out of shame for its empty hands, even the salt-cellar finally hung its head; enough now, O wound of the heart, just behold the tumult of the salt-cellar.
9
बयाद-ए-गर्मी-ए-सोहबत ब-रंग-ए-शोला दहके है
छुपाऊँ क्यूँकि 'ग़ालिब' सोज़िशें दाग़-ए-नुमायाँ की
In remembrance of intimacy's warmth, it blazes like a flame / How can I conceal, O Ghalib, the burning of so visible a scar?
In remembrance of the warmth of companionship, the heart blazes like a flame; O Ghalib, how can I possibly conceal the burning of such an obvious wound?
10
जुनूँ तोहमत-कश-ए-तस्कीं न हो गर शादमानी की
नमक-पाश-ए-ख़राश-ए-दिल है लज़्ज़त ज़िंदगानी की
If passion bears no blame for seeking the solace of delight, life's relish is but salt sprinkled upon the wounded heart.
If passion is not blamed for finding solace in happiness, then the pleasure of living is merely salt sprinkled upon the wound of the heart.
11
कशाकश-हा-ए-हस्ती से करे क्या सई-ए-आज़ादी
हुइ ज़ंजीर-ए-मौज-ए-आब को फ़ुर्सत रवानी की
Why strive for freedom from the ceaseless struggles of life? Has the wave-forged chain of water ever won respite from its flow?
Why should one strive for freedom from the struggles of life? Has the chain of water's waves ever found respite from flowing?
12
न खींच ऐ सई-ए-दस्त-ए-ना-रसा ज़ुल्फ़-ए-तमन्ना को
परेशाँ-तर है मू-ए-ख़ामा से तदबीर मानी की
Draw not, O futile reach of the helpless hand, the tresses of desire; far more tangled than the split hair of the pen is the contrivance of meaning.
O futile effort of an incapable hand, do not draw or untangle the tresses of desire; for even the skill and plan of Mani the painter is more disheveled than the hair of a brush.
13
कहाँ हम भी रग-ओ-पै रखते हैं इंसाफ़ बहत्तर है
न खींचे ताक़त-ए-ख़म्याज़ा तोहमत ना-तवानी की
Where do we even possess veins and sinew? Let justice fairly see: lest the mere strain of a weary stretch lay blame on our debility.
Where do we even possess veins and sinews anymore; it is only fair that the exertion of a mere stretch or yawn is not blamed for our weakness.
14
तकल्लुफ़-बरतरफ़ फ़रहाद और इतनी सुबु-दस्ती
ख़याल आसाँ था लेकिन ख़्वाब-ए-ख़ुसरव ने गिरानी की
Pretenses set aside, could Farhad truly command such swift and nimble hands? The fancy seemed easy, yet the dream of Khusrau weighed heavy on the task.
Formalities aside, did Farhad truly possess such swift hands? The thought was simple enough, but Khusrau's dream made the task immensely heavy and burdensome.
15
पस-अज़-मुर्दन भी दीवाना ज़ियारत-गाह-ए-तिफ़्लाँ है
शरार-ए-संग ने तुर्बत पे मेरी गुल-फ़िशानी की
Even after death, the madman's grave remains a shrine where children flock; sparks struck from pelting stones have scattered blossoms on my tomb.
Even after death, this madman's grave remains a visiting site for children, and the sparks struck from the stones they throw have showered flowers over my tomb.
16
'असद' को बोरिए में धर के फूँका मौज-ए-हस्ती ने
फ़क़ीरी में भी बाक़ी है शरारत नौजवानी की
Life’s reckless tide wrapped Asad in a pauper’s mat and burned him down; yet even in ascetic poverty, the mischief of youth still lives on.
The wave of existence wrapped Asad in a rough straw mat and burned him away, yet even in this state of poverty and renunciation, the mischief of youth still endures.
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