Mirza Ghalib
It dawned on
the thinking of man due to thy person,
The extent to
which man’s wings of imagination can reach,
Thy entire
incarnate was soul, while world of eloquence embodiment,
Thou wert world-adorning at the same time
hidden from it too,
That beauty of
thy person is acceptable to eye,
Which pervades
everything as burning for manifestation,
The world of
existence is enriched by thy duckharp,
As the song of a stream enriches silence of
the mountain-range,
Thy
enrapturing imagination creates spring of the nature,
Thy
sown-field of thinking germinates meadows verdure,
Life is
hidden in the humour of thy writing,
Power of
eloquence makes the picture life-like,
Power of
speech is all-pride on the marvel of thy lips,
The
Pleiades is amazed at the exaltation of flight,
Contents of
subjects liberally appreciate thy style,
The bud of Delhi is ridiculing the
flowers of Shiraz,
Alas! Thou
art at rest at the ruined city of Delhi,
Thy
contemporary is at rest at garden-city of Weimer,
No one
equals thee in the grace of speech,
As long there be no balance in thinking and imagination,
Alas! What
happened to the soil of India!
Ah! What a
lesson imparting critical scene!
Urdu
language till now has not reached its growth,
This
lamp needs moths for burning of heart,
O Delhi! O
the hub of arts and skills!
Thy roofs
and doors are wholly wails of silence!
In every
speck of thy soil are asleep scholars and litterateurs,
They say
lacs of talented men are hidden in thy soil,
None is
like this pride of time buried in thy soil!
No pearl is so lustrous as this
pearl hidden in thy soil!
(Suggestions invited to make the above more exact.)
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