S. R. Faruqi:

(1) Who am I, dear friends? My spirit is suffering,
my heart on fire. I spit out flames.

(2) My own passion brought me out from behind the curtain,
for I am really one who dwells in mystery, in secret seclusion.

(3) That is my radiance, and mine alone, on the shores of the ocean of poetry.
Thought swells in waves, with countless forms. I am the poet's free-flowing intellect.

(4) Every morning I wrestle with the sun.
Like a comb I travel each night in the shade of beauty's hair.

(5) Whoever sees me, if only once, becomes mad for me.
I disturb and agitate the whole world's mood.

(6) Do not, please, do not try to make me open my lips.
I have a hundred utterances buried under my tongue, all drenched in blood.

(7) I am pale in grief for the fresh greenery of this garden.
I am one of its yellowed leaves, blasted and withered.

(8) The crush of passions in my heart makes me distracted and restless.
Don't come after me. Understand that no one but God knows where I am at this moment.

(9) My existence is a mere suspicion, more imagined than real.
Even so, I lie like a burden on your fragile mood.

(10) I once dwelled in comfort, unpolluted and chaste.
Things happened--I have been here for some days.

 

FWP:

(inspired by SRF's translation)

(1) Who am I, my dear friends? I'm a burnt-out case.
A singular fire is in my heart-- so that I breathe out flames.

(2) My ardor has brought me outside the veil--
but I'm still the intimate of the hidden mystery.

(3) Through me alone there's glory on the seashore of poetry.
My wave is hundred-colored; I have a 'flowing' temperament.

(4) At dawn my fingers are in the sun-rays.
Like a comb, I slide through the shadows of the idols' curls.

(5) Anyone who's seen me is mad for me.
I'm a cause of distractedness to the world.

(6) Ah, don't trouble me to move my lips!
I have a hundred blood-wet verses under my tongue.

(7) I'm pale with grief for the fresh young sprouts of the garden.
In this autumnal garden, I'm an autumnal leaf.

(8) Heart-yearning keeps me in such disarray!
Don't come after me now-- the Lord knows where I am!

(9) Not more than an illusion, my illusory existence.
But on your delicate temperament, I'm still a heavy weight.

(10) A life of comfort, and purity and holiness, were mine, Mir.
Things fell out such that-- I've been here for some days.

 

Zahra Sabri:

Zahra Sabri is a special guest translator for this site.

(1) Who am I, my dear confidants? I’m a love-burnt soul
There is a fire in my heart – and hence, I’m flame-scattering

(2) It is my ardour which has brought me out from behind the veil
Otherwise, I’m that same intimate confidant of the hidden secret

(3) It is through none but me: the splendour on the shore of poetry’s ocean
My thoughts surge in a hundred hues; my creativity is never at rest

(4) My hand is in the rays of the sun every morning
I am a comb-like night-traveller of the beautiful ones’ tresses

(5) Whoever has seen me has fallen crazily in love with me
I am the cause of the whole world’s derangement

(6) Don’t task me with moving my lips, alas!
Beneath my tongue are a hundred utterances, steeped in blood

(7) I am pale with sorrow for the garden’s fresh saplings
I am an autumnal leaf in this autumn-affected garden

(8) The yearning of my heart drives me to such distraction
Don’t seek me out – God knows where I am at which moment!

(9) No greater than a mere fancy is my insubstantial existence
Even so, I bear so heavily on your delicate temperament

(10) Mine was an existence of ease, comfort, immaculate purity, and sanctity, “Mir”
Things transpired such that I’ve been here for several days