S. R. Faruqi:

(1) You've come to visit today , but what do I have to scatter around you as love's offering,
except to draw you into my arms and kiss you long and hard?

(2) I became dust: ruined and thrown to the winds, trodden under foot, totally obliterated.
How else am I to smooth the hardships in the path of love?

(3) A wan and pale face, tears flowing all the time--two strong witnesses.
Be fair now! How can I deny to you that I am in love?

(4) Now whenever I enter a garden my advantage is keeping my mouth shut.
There's no reason I should have the rose pester me with arguments when I praise your beauty.

(5) I persist in my indifference to her because I'm bereft of hope.
Should the disdainful lady give me just an inch, I would bow and beseech her a hundred times.

(6) I am a mere faqir, no more than the dust. If I come and sit here it is merely courtesy.
Those who feel shame at these things should stay away from such situations.

(7) Each and every leaf in the garden understands my state well.
Tell me, lovely rose, who else should I make aware of my destitution, shorn of leaf and branch?

(8) Do you think I ever entertained any expectations of these fancy people
who gave my rival a front row seat, and sent me out to wander the streets?

(9) Really, Mir ji is one of those gabby types. He's a friend, but dare I tell him of my pain?
If he got to know even the littlest thing, he would expatiate on it in every gathering.

 

FWP:

(inspired by SRF's translation)

(1) Today you have come to my house-- what is here that I would offer you?
Other than that clasping you to my side, for a long time, I would kiss you?

(2) I became dust, I was flung to the wind, I was trampled underfoot, I was entirely annihilated--
further hardships on the road of passion-- how else would I make them easy?

(3) A wan face, tears flowing all the time-- two strong witnesses.
In all justice, how can I deny to you that I am in love?

(4) Now whenever I enter a garden my advantage is in keeping my mouth shut.
Why should I praise you-- and bring the rose down on my head?

(5) If I make a habit of carelessness-- it's from despair.
If that arrogant one showed the least inclination, I would plead a hundred times.

(6) I am a faqir, no better than the dust. If I come and sit here, it's only out of courtesy.
Those who disapprove, should simply avoid such scenes.

(7) Every single leaf of the garden knows my situation.
Tell me, oh rose, are there others who should learn of my fruitlessness?

(8) Did I really expect this from those fine-looking people--
to seat the Other beside them, and sent me out disgraced into the streets?

(9) Mir-ji is quite the one-- if he comes, should I tell him of my pain?
If he can learn anything at all, he'll spread it around in the gatherings.

 

Zahra Sabri:

Zahra Sabri is a special guest translator for this site.

(1) Today, you’ve come to my house, so what here can I offer in devotion?
Except for dragging you into my arms, and kissing you for a long time

(2) I turned to dust, I was demolished, I was crushed underfoot, I became utterly erased
What else can I do to smooth the difficulties of Passion’s path?

(3) The paleness of my face, tears at every instant – when there are two such witnesses
How can I, in all justice, deny being in love?

(4) Now when I come to the garden, it’s better for me to maintain silence
In praising you, shall I risk the rose getting after me?

(5) My habit of indifference is rooted in hopelessness
If that haughty one would unbend just a bit, I would make a hundred entreaties

(6) am just a poor mendicant, low as dust; if I come sit here, it’s merely courtesy
Those who feel ashamed before the world, they should avoid it

(7) Every single leaf of the garden is aware of my state
Who else, oh rose, should I tell of my destitution?

(8) Did we expect this from these handsome people?
That they should give my rival a place of honour besides them, and leave me hanging around in the street?

(9) The kind of gentleman “Mir” is – how should we trust him with our tale of grief?
He spreads in the assembly whatever he gets to hear