S. R. Faruqi:

(1) There was a time when Mir--before tyranny killed him--was young.
His style of poetry aroused tumult and lamentation.
(2) The page on which his poetry was inscribed was a packet of magic.
He recited his ghazal and people raptly gazed at his face. A strange and wondrous sight it was.
(3) In Delhi, on whichever street he would wander, with afflicted heart,
there walked with him a noise and turmoil like doomsday.
(4) He wasn't ever downcast , like dust sodden with water:
he was a storm, a terrible wonderful thing; a clamor that shook the whole world.

(5) The desire to get just a glimpse of the beloved--how keen it was!--was buried with me,
even the flowers growing on my grave seemed to be looking anxiously around.

(6) Majnun trying to compete with me in madness--how futile!
Where was he at the time I went mad?

(7) I was unmindful of the state of my wounded heart.
The treasure was hidden in this very body, this treasure-store of wrack and ruin.

(8) How strong was Farhad in hewing away at the rocks,
friendless though he was, powerless, exhausted.

(9) Was anyone in the world, Mir, ignorant of you?
And yet when you ceased to be, no name or trace of you was to be found.

 

FWP:

(inspired by SRF's translation)

(1) This Mir, laid low by tyranny, was once young.
His style of poetry brought out turmoil and tears.
(2) A page of his poetry held magic.
Watching his face while he recited a ghazal-- a strange spell of speech!
(3) In Delhi, wherever that heart-stricken one walked,
a tumult like Doomsday went with him.
(4) He was not downhearted, like water-sodden dust.
He was a hurricane, a disaster, a world-disturber!

(5) How intensely I kept longing to see her!
Every flower that grew from my dust was on the lookout.

(6) Majnun tries vainly to outdo me in madness.
The day when I went mad-- where was he?

(7) I paid no heed to my own wretched heart--
Such riches were hidden in that ruined wreck!

(8) With what strength Farhad cleaved the rocks!
Although he was helpless, powerless, and frail.

(9) Who in the world didn't know you, Mir?
But when you were gone, not a trace was to be found.

 

Zahra Sabri:

Zahra Sabri is a special guest translator for this site.

(1) This fellow Mir, laid low by injustice, was youthful once
His style of poetry caused great wailing and lamentation

(2) The slip of paper containing his verses was a little parcel of magic
You’d gaze at him rapt, as he read out his ghazal – the wonder of his words!

(3) Whichever street in Delhi that doleful one wandered through
A doomsday-like uproar accompanied him

(4) He was not one to be cast down like sodden dust
He was a tempest, a calamity, a storm that shook the world!

(5) How vehemently the unfulfilled longing to see her remained with me!
Watchful was each flower which emerged from the dust of my grave

(6) Idle is Majnun’s claim to compete with me in madness
The day I went insane – could he even be seen?

(7) We were oblivious to the state of our broken heart
That treasure was hidden in this same devastated cavern

(8) How forcefully Farhad carried out stone-splitting!
Despite being friendless, and weak and powerless

(9) Who in the world didn’t know you, “Mir”? Yet still
When you ceased to be, could we find a trace of you?