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 ?