O my heart, O the traveler
It has been commanded once again
to leave the country
To wander street to street calling and wander city to city to
find the clue
to a messenger
to ask from every stranger
the address of our own home
go to the house of unknown
and make the day to night
talking to this one or that one.
How I tell you what it is
the sadness of night is very bad
I consider it is enough
to be counted in some
Why was it bad to die for me
if it was once.
Translated from Urdu poetry.
Comments
Thank Dara for your nice comments.
Eid mubarak Mishaikh sahib! Dil, oh ap janta kiya hoowa? Sub log ka perishan. Koi be mushkil, dil kilyai. The source of our happiness and our bitterness, most people say, it is the heart.
Thanks Inna for your kind attention.
That is the real poetry - emotional and mysterious...