Ghazal
आबरू क्या ख़ाक उस गुल की कि गुलशन में नहीं
This ghazal poignantly explores themes of loss, futility, and profound despair. It questions the very essence and honor of things that are disconnected from their source or context, like a flower not in a garden or a garment's collar separate from its hem. The verses vividly portray the speaker's extreme physical and emotional exhaustion, where incessant weeping has drained all vitality, and life's essence has vanished like color, leaving nothing but emptiness.
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1
आबरू क्या ख़ाक उस गुल की कि गुलशन में नहीं
है गरेबाँ नंग-ए-पैराहन जो दामन में नहीं
What honor, what dust, can that flower truly own, if in the garden it remains unknown? The collar's a shame to the robe, it's true, if its hem fails to complete what is due.
What honor does that flower possess if it's not in the garden? The collar becomes a disgrace to the garment if it's not connected to the hem.
2
ज़ोफ़ से ऐ गिर्या कुछ बाक़ी मिरे तन में नहीं
रंग हो कर उड़ गया जो ख़ूँ कि दामन में नहीं
From weakness, O tears, naught in my body remains,The blood that reached no skirt, as mere color, it flew.
O tears, due to extreme weakness, nothing remains in my body. The blood that never stained my garment has evaporated, having turned into mere color (paleness) and flown away.
3
हो गए हैं जमा अजज़ा-ए-निगाह-ए-आफ़ताब
ज़र्रे उस के घर की दीवारों के रौज़न में नहीं
The sun's gaze, its very components, are now amassed and pure;No dust motes in his home's wall-openings endure.
The components of the sun's gaze (dust motes in sunlight) have gathered. Yet, not a single particle is found in the crevices of the walls of their house.
4
रौनक़-ए-हस्ती है इश्क़-ए-ख़ाना वीराँ साज़ से
अंजुमन बे-शमा है गर बर्क़ ख़िर्मन में नहीं
The glory of life is from love, that desolates the home it makes; An assembly is dark if no lightning through the harvest breaks.
The splendor of existence comes from a love that devastates the home. An assembly is without a lamp if lightning does not strike the harvest, implying essential destruction for illumination.
5
ज़ख़्म सिलवाने से मुझ पर चारा-जुई का है तान
ग़ैर समझा है कि लज़्ज़त ज़ख़्म-ए-सोज़न में नहीं
My stitching of wounds brings on me the taunt of seeking remedy,The 'other' thinks no pleasure lies within the needle's injury.
By getting my wound stitched, I am taunted with seeking a remedy. The other assumes there is no pleasure in the wound of the needle (the pain of stitching the wound).
6
बस-कि हैं हम इक बहार-ए-नाज़ के मारे हुए
जल्वा-ए-गुल के सिवा गर्द अपने मदफ़न में नहीं
So smitten are we by one spring of captivating grace,No dust in our grave, save for the flower's bright trace.
Since we are struck by a spring of elegance, there is no dust in our grave except for the manifestation of the flower. Our final resting place is pure beauty.
7
क़तरा क़तरा इक हयूला है नए नासूर का
ख़ूँ भी ज़ौक़-ए-दर्द से फ़ारिग़ मिरे तन में नहीं
Each drop a blueprint for a new, festering sore,My blood within my body, from pain's relish, is never free more.
Drop by drop, each is a blueprint for a new festering wound. Even the blood in my body is not free from the pleasure of pain.
8
ले गई साक़ी की नख़वत क़ुल्ज़ुम-आशामी मिरी
मौज-ए-मय की आज रग मीना की गर्दन में नहीं
My ocean-drinking capacity bore the saqi's pride away;No wave of wine today in the flask's neck-vein does sway.
My ocean-like thirst has taken away the Saqi's pride; today, the wave of wine doesn't even pulse in the veins of the wine-bottle's neck, implying all bottles are utterly empty.
9
हो फ़िशार-ए-ज़ोफ़ में क्या ना-तवानी की नुमूद
क़द के झुकने की भी गुंजाइश मिरे तन में नहीं
In weakness's crushing grip, what new infirmity can show?My body holds no space for my stature to even bend low.
What manifestation of helplessness can appear amidst the extreme pressure of weakness? There isn't even enough space left in my body for my stature to bend or stoop due to feebleness.
10
थी वतन में शान क्या 'ग़ालिब' कि हो ग़ुर्बत में क़द्र
बे-तकल्लुफ़ हूँ वो मुश्त-ए-ख़स कि गुलख़न में नहीं
What glory did Ghalib possess in his homeland, that in exile he might find acclaim? I am, without reserve, that handful of dry straw, not even found for the furnace's flame.
What status did I, Ghalib, have in my homeland that I should find respect in exile? I am unhesitatingly that handful of straw not even fit for the furnace.
11
क्या कहूँ तारीकी-ए-ज़िन्दान-ए-ग़म अंधेर है
पुम्बा नूर-व-सुब्ह से कम जिस के रौज़न में नहीं
What can I say of sorrow's dungeon, its darkness so profound?Where in its window, cotton outshines both light and dawn all around.
What can I say about the darkness of the prison of sorrow, it is utter gloom! Even the cotton in its opening appears no less radiant than light or morning.
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