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The Royal Cemetery |
The sky is clothed in the cloud’s old tattered robe
The mirror of moon’s forehead is somewhat gloomy
The moon light is pale in this silent panorama
The dawn is sleeping in the lap of the night
How astonishing is silence of the trees
This silence is the soft tune of Nature’s harp
The heart of every speck of the universe is pathos embodied
And the silence is a sad sigh on the lips of existence |
Ah! That fort, that universal mustering ground
Is carrying millennia’s weight on its shoulders
Was full of life at one time, now is desolate
This silence is the cemetery of its past elegance
It is the lover of the remains of its old denizens
It is standing on the mountain top like a sentinel |
There from the cloud’s window above the sky’s roof
That young green star is viewing the universe
The earth’s vast expanse is a mere child’s play to it
The story of Man’s failure is known to it by heart
This traveler is going to his destination since eternity
Seeing revolutions’ spectacles from the sky’s seclusion
Though quiescence of the star is not possible in the universe
It has stopped momentarily for saying prayer for the dead
This earth is full of flowers of life’s variegations
This earth is the cemetery of many destroyed civilizations |
This grief-stricken stage is the resting place of kings
O admonished eye! Pay the tribute of rosy tears
Though a mere cemetery, this dust ranks with the sky
Ah! this is the wealth of an unfortunate nation!
So astounding is the grandeur of mausoleums
That the spectator’s eye evades even winking
Such an expression of failure is in this picture
Which is impossible to reflect in description’s mirror |
Far from the habitations’ crowds are sleeping
Those who were restless with unfulfilled Longings
The grave’s darkness holds the brilliance of those suns
At whose thresholds the sky used to remain prostrating
Is this the end of these emperors’ magnificence?
Whose diplomatic policies knew no decline
Be it the grandeur of Qaisar or Faghfur’s sway
The foe of death’s assault cannot be turned away
The result of kings’ life-efforts also is the grave
The last stage on path of magnificence is the grave |
Neither the happy assembly’s commotion nor the genius’ talk
Not even the wailing people’s whole night’s compassion!
Neither the tumult of the sword in the battle!
Nor the cry of blood warming Takbir!
No call can wake up those who are sleeping
No life can return to the desolate breast |
The soul in the handful of dust is enduring injustice
When breath enters non-existence’ flute it is a mere complaint
Human life resembles the sweet singing bird, which
Sat on the branch a while, chirped, flew away
Ah! For what purpose did we come in the world, for what purpose did we go away!
Sprouted from the life’s branch, blossomed, faded away
Death is interpretation of the dream of the king and the poor alike
This atrocious one’s terror is the picture of justice |
The stream of life is a boundless ocean
And the grave is a wave of this boundless ocean
O ambition! Shed tears of blood as this life is unreliable
It is the smile of the spark, it is the flammable straw
This moon which is a miracle of the Lord of the universe
Clad in the robe of gold is slowly and proudly strolling
But in the frightening vastness of the starless sky
Its helplessness is worth watching at time of dawn
What was the moon is a mere piece of cloud
Whose destruction is in the last tear drop |
Similarly unpredictable is the life of nations
Their glory is a picture of the happy times gone by
In this world no nation however prestigious it may be
Can continue its existence till the end of time
So much accustomed to nations’ destruction is the universe
That it watches this scene with indifference
Nothing stays the same without change
The universe’ nature is made of change
The beauty of world’s jewel is in ever-changing names
The mother earth has always remained expecting new nations! |
This highway is acquainted with thousands of caravans
Kohinur’s eye is familiar with innumerable kings
Egypt and Babylon are annihilated, not a mark remains
The roll of existence does not have even their names
The evening of death has overpowered the sun of Iran
Time has robbed the grandeur of Greece and Rome
Ah! The Muslim also from the world similarly departed
The azure cloud appeared over the horizon, rained and departed |
The rose petal’s vein is a string of pearls with dawn’s tears
Some ray of the sun is enmeshed in the dew
The river’s breast is the cradle for sun’s rays
How beautiful is the sun’s sight at the river bank!
Juniper is busy in beautifying, river is the mirror
For the flower bud spring breeze is the mirror
The cuckoo remains calling from the garden’s nest
Remains hidden from the human eye in the leaves’ privacy
And the nightingale, the flowery singer of the garden
By whose presence is alive the glory of the garden
Is a living picture of the commotion of Love
How beautiful is this picture from Nature’s pen!
In the garden the roses silent assemblies are holding
The shepherd boys’ shouts in the valley are echoing
This old world is so full of life
That in death also is hidden the zest of life
The petals fall in autumn in the same way
As toys fall from the sleeping infant’s hand
In this cheerful world though luxury is limitless
One grief, that is grief of the Millat is always fresh |
Memories of the age gone by are still fresh in our heart
This Ummah cannot erase its kings’ memories form its heart
These desolate mansions are excuses for shedding tears
Insight has developed in the eye with continuous tears
We give to the world the pearls of the weeping eye
We are the remaining clouds of a storm gone by
There are hundreds of pearls in this cloud’s breast
Thunder still lurks in this cloud’s silent breast
It can change the dry wilderness to a flowery vale
It can change the farmer’s hope from slumber to awakening
The manifestation of this nation’s majesty has passed
But the manifestation of its beauty has not yet passed |
Translated by: M.A.K. Khalil |
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