Playful

A blind father-in-law, a deaf daughter-in-law too, Yet all have gone, the holy tale to pursue.

Your cruelty does not make us doubt your faithfulness; it's merely playful mischief, otherwise, your intention isn't to test us.

The appearance and form of this Sheikh-ji are unusual; When you see him, your eyes will be weary.

The coy display of teeth's playfulness is for laughter;The claim of gathering friends is a cause for laughter.

Your mischief, it reveals our state, our heart's deep, hidden plea,A fingertip's thin veil it is, for secrets shattered for all to see.

My ears have burst from listening to lore,Yet, Akha, no Brahman-knowledge came to my core.

You set fire to the water, you run, This heat is from your mischief's flow.

When her face remains concealed, such is the state that it was never truly seen;A veil, surpassing her locks, unfurled on that playful beauty's face.

For a while, with that mischievous one, we feigned displeasure, just for formality's sake;But frankly, even that pretense was a distinct manner of our own madness.

When the beloved claps her hands in laughter's joyous flight,Like a glow-worm, she would spread on the moon her brilliant light.

In the realm of dignity and self-control, union and separation reside,But for love, a playful beloved and a mad lover are required.

If no kiss, then do give me curses, that's alright; after all, you possess a tongue, even if you have no mouth (for a kiss).

Your face is an intoxicating delight, Has something truly magnificent happened, sir?

In deference to her lashes' playful art, each thorn's tip is a needle; Oh, lest her smile become the stitching for a rose petal's hem.

Are the boys of Delhi, the playboys and the fools, Whose hearts are so stolen that no sound can be heard?

O gardener, who plucked the buds with a 'chat chat' sound, Did the nightingale feel that the heart and liver were cruel?

By the glance of the intoxicated, my beloved, your beauty is intoxicating; / Neither a dwelling nor a place of rest is for the clever.

In the crowded gathering, I called out to my lover, Oh, how clever were your eyes in your drunken ecstasy?

Such charm and mischief in your image dwell,The mirror, with a hundred fond desires,Like a flower, its embrace it opens well.

Akha, the blind one looted the market; such is the Saint-Guru's insight.

O Raanjha, do not look at the village women, For if you do, they will surely blush.

What kiss? This much is blessing, true, they never knew abuse's pleasure, too.

What if you cinch it tight, would then my troubles flee?Am I not well acquainted with your slender waist, you see?

Sheikh-ji, is something wrong with your handkerchief, or are you also among the intoxicated, wine-loving, and agitated ones?

If he sees me weeping, silently and slow,He then, with a smile, the beloved's playful talk will show.

Asad, it's the drunken stumble, the fervor of the show, From wine's fiery glow, the friend's market warmly does glow.

A certain fool has such a habit,Each stone he sees, he makes a god of it.

The magic of kohl-filled eyes, I like, A reason I will not give, for I like it.

Laugh unfailingly, laugh certainly,Even in sorrow, laugh uninhibitedly.This wisdom of madness,I truly adore.

O foe of wisdom, for a while, in patient sorrow lie,One must collect the strength for the Beloved's playful eye.