S. R. Faruqi:

(1) Well, I certainly deserve tyrannical treatment, harsh and cruel and unjust treatment.
For even though I burn all the time, I am hot in faithfulness and fidelity.

(2) I am adept at both sorts of love's art.
A storm when I weep, a calamity when I suffer in my heart.

(3) I could not come to full bloom in the world's garden.
I am a withered bud spurned by the morning breeze.

(4) My tears rival each blister on the soles of my feet,
for I have walked in your path with my eyes.

(5) So will there ever be a way for me to find relief or repose?
I am tired of living, and angry with death.

(6) You do make a habit of cruelty, my beloved, but don't shake off my hand from the hem of your skirt.
I am no more than dust by the roadside; it would take me less than a breath to ride away on airy wings.

(7) Night of disunion, come now and burn me as much as you want.
I am burnt in heart and body, and eagerly await the day of retribution.

(8) Yes, everything of mine is gone--comfort, strength, food, repose.
But is it not something, after all, that I have managed to stay alive through all this?

(9) I'm something, somehow--that is all I know,
though I don't myself know well enough what exactly I am.

(10) It's better I don't say a word because silence is better than speech.
So don't ask what happened. I have suffered one life and countless deaths.

(11) It's only now I am able to express myself in words of fire and energy.
And that is because I burned through a whole lifetime from evening to dawn like a candle.

(12) By the grace of God I slashed my breast to ribbons.
Mir, now is the time to pray, for I am hard at work on the heart.

 

FWP:

(inspired by SRF's translation)

(1) I am fit for cruelty and tyranny and oppression and violence--
Although I burn, I am inflamed with faithfulness.

(2) I am expert in both arts of passion--
I can weep up a storm; I'm deadly at laments.

(3) In this garden of the world, I have not flowered.
I am a withered bud, rejected by the dawn breeze.

(4) My teardrops are equal to blisters on the feet,
so much have I walked on your road-- with my eyes.

(5) As if there'll be any way for me to find peace!
I'm disaffected with life, and angry with death.

(6) Don't snatch your skirt-hem from my hand, oh tyrant.
I am roadside dust-- in a few breaths, I'll be gone with the wind.

(7) Now burn me to your heart's content, oh night of separation!
I, the burnt one, await the 'Day of Recompense'.

(8) Although strength and rest and eating and sleeping have all gone,
by now it's a 'piece of luck' that I'm still alive.

(9) I do know that I'm something or other,
But even I don't know fully what I am.

(10) In short, friends, silence is better than speech.
Don't ask about it-- my life is a living death.

(11) Now I've begun to compose hot poetry--
since I've burned, like a candle, from evening till dawn.

(12) Through the grace of God, I've torn up my whole breast.
It's time for prayer, Mir, for now I'm tackling the heart.

 

Zahra Sabri:

Zahra Sabri is a special guest translator for this site.

(1) I merit cruelty, oppression, tyranny, and injustice
Even though I burn, I am inflamed with devotion

(2) I am proficient in both of passion’s skills
I am a storm at weeping, a fiend at pining

(3) I did not bloom in this world’s garden
I am a faded bud, for I’ve been abandoned by the breeze

(4) My teardrops are the rival of every blister on my foot
To such an extent have I walked on your path with my eyes

(5) Can there ever be a way for me to find peace?
I am dispirited with life, vexed with death

(6) Don’t jerk the hem of your robe from my grasp, oh cruel one
I am the dust by the wayside, in a few instants I’ll be borne away by the wind

(7) Make me burn as much as you like now, oh night of separation
Even burnt as I am, I impatiently await the Day of Retribution

(8) Even though strength, repose, eating, and sleeping– all have departed
It is something at least, in the end, that I’ve still continued to live

(9) All I know is that I am something, in any case
Even I don’t know well what exactly I am

(10) In short, silence is better than speaking, my friends
Don’t ask how I’ve fared, for I’ve been living at the edge of death

(11) My poetry has gained fiery force and effect only after I have
Passed a lifetime of candle-like burning, from dusk until dawn

(12) By the grace of God, I have torn apart my breast completely
It is a time for prayer, “Mir”, for now I’m working on my heart