2 Except for Qais, no one entered the field of action— Perhaps the desert had narrowed like a jealous eye. Distractedness fixed a black spot in the hea
2 Except for Qais, no one entered the field of action— Perhaps the desert had narrowed like a jealous eye. Distractedness fixed a black spot in the heart. Clearly, the burnt-out scar was mostly smoke. In a dream, my mind did business with you— When my eyes opened, there was neither profit nor loss. I still take lessons in the school of grief of the heart. But only that “went” went, and “was” was. The shroud covered the shame of my nakedness. Otherwise, in every attire I was a disgrace to life. Without an axe Kohkan couldn’t die, Asad— He was dizzy from a hangover of customs and rules. Either the world is a spellbound city of the silent, Or I’m a stranger in the land of speech and hearing. ...
5 Although it’s hard enough for every task to be easy, Not even humans can manage to be humane.
24 ... Shouldn’t I wait for death—since it can’t stand not to come? Should I desire you—when if you don’t come, you can’t be called? A burden has fallen from my head that even if lifted, wouldn’t be lifted. A task has confronted me that even if done, wouldn’t be done. There’s no power over passion—it’s that fire, Ghalib, That if lit, wouldn’t burn; and if extinguished, wouldn’t go out.
I don’t speak Urdu so I obviously can’t discuss the fact that some reviewers expressed their reservations about this translation. However, after reading the first ghazal, I felt an immediate magnetism. Like a siren’s song, the charm and depth of Ghalib’s verse are irresistible, and the effect, the punch is as powerful as a ship crashing on the rocks—but not as final… This book is meant to be read aloud as slowly as possible to relish every single line. If there’s a better translation out there, how will the ship survive?
It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.
I
It is the pang of separation
It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.
It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all night from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of July.
It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joys in human homes; and this it is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.
