shaad sapnum dil me boozum....

The news that he'll be our guest tonight

Fills my heart with boundless joy -

My dearest friend, with heart and eyes

Brimming over with constant love !

 

The gardener, moving round the bushes

And adorning the garden, says:

To waft the news all abroad 

That the Lord of Love will come.

 

The freshness of the yemberzal,

The youth of the hyacinth,

The bulbul's enchanting melodies

Are all offerings at his feet.

 

With honest virtue standing guard,

Verdure need fear no ravage.

Those who were busy amassing wealth

Will fall like autumn leaves.

 

How enamourned of me was everyone

When I was draped in blossoms !

And, O how stones were hurled at me,

When the blossoms changed to fruit !

 

The flower, w o is the prophet of spring,

Has with him four constant friends - 

Fragrance and the morning breeze,

The singing bulbul and the dew.

 

Flowers are slaves of time,

But the bulbul knows no such fetters !

Would you like to be a gul or a bulbul ? -

The choice is always yours !

 

Mahjoor, your words, the seekers feel,

Are no less than life-giving nectar.

Were you not a serving halqadar.

We'd call you a hallowed saint !