tote volmut chaani amaari ye
I'm like a parrot enmeshed
in your love,
O wild mynah, hear the
song of my heart !
The god of love, in his
crimson robes,
Came to the garden in the
shades of dusk,
And fragrance floated from
flower beds.
Her curls float down like
webs,
Or like a hyacinth bed
that entraps a rose,
Or like the king of snakes.
And O. how many have fallen !
Won't I offer my eyes to
my beloved's feet !
O, those wine cups filled
to the brim !
And those brimful drunken
eyes !
Your furtive glance laid
me low.
When with brows knit, you
shot your arrows,
O queen huntress, I fell
!
Your delicate hands are
bouquets of flowers,
Your words so soft and
sweet ! -
What better balm could
the ailing find ?
Seen from afar, you fill
one with yearning;
But when you are near,
you veil your face !
Why be coy, my love ? Why
these barriers ?
O let me gaze at your living
form,
And taste the honey of
your words.
I've been languishing for
ages !
Be my guest. There's feast
for you -
Almonds, nan, girda, shirmal,
And the choicest tender
meat !
O crow, ask la belle dame
sans merci
Why she can't look up an
ailing soul.
After all, we're not in
hostile camps !
Mahjoor is singing a song
of love
Which only lovers can understand.
What say the people of
Handawara ?
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