- na may sta da nari shundi dy pakar
na da zulfi wal pa wal laka khamar
na da bati pashan danga ghari ghwaram
nargasay stargy na daki da khumar
na ghakhuna dy laluna da adan
na nangy dak sara sara laka anar
na pasti da sarindy pa shan khabari
na wajood laka da saar way mazadar
khu bas yow shai rata ra ukhaya dilbara
da lala pashan zargy ghawaram daghdar
yow dawa ukhaqi chi da ghum ao muhabat way
lakuno laluna dy karam zaar
- I do not need your red sculpted lips,
Nor hair in loops like a serpent’s coils,
Nor a nape as graceful as a swan’s,
Nor narcissus eyes full of drunkenness,
Nor teeth as perfect as pearls of heaven,
Nor cheeks ruddy and full as pomegranates,
Nor a voice mellifluous as a sarinda,
Nor a figure as elegant as a poplar,
But show me just this one thing, my love,
I seek a heart stained like a poppy flower –
Pearls by millions I would gladly cede,
For the sake of tears borne of love and grief.
- Entreaty (1929)
- Manhood stands tall and high, and becomes madness;
The self takes leave of being and becomes ecstasy.
When iron sated with blood embraces love,
It turns into a bewildered sitar string.
When time robs man of love and the loved one,
He sees the beloved’s glory and his own.
How man sprouts when he sits down in dust!
- When Man Sits Down in Dust, l. 1-7
- Death, go somewhere, get lost! I’m not done as yet –
Joy still flows from the amphora of colors into my cupped hands.
- Reverie, st. 9
- But death blinds you, unaware of man’s fall –
An autumn that steals the flower from the flower peddler.
Death is testimony of god’s love and mercy for man –
A promise made between autumn and spring.
- Death, st. 3-4
- What is man’s life but love, love of self;
Man is dust, dust as his passion, dust as the beloved.
Death, it is your great act of piety for man –
You take him to your house or he’d be left to himself.
Death is a covenant between the lover and the beloved;
Death is a secret wedlock between being and non-being.
Death harbors the hidden port of life’s ocean;
Death is helpless and a vision of beauty to itself.
Death is the only witness of my life and your grace,
And O strange lord, of night and the crescent.
- Death, st. 8-12
- Ghani Khan - interviews, images, and poems