Mehdi-e-Majrooh Hai Sheher-e-Khamoshan Ka Makeen
The fame of Ghalib has long been buried in the ground.
Mahdi Majruh dwells in the city of the silent.
Chashme-e-Mehfil Mein Hai Ab Tak Kaif-e-Sehbaye Ameer
In exile, Death broke the win‐jar of Amir,
But in the eyes of the assembly still resides the intoxication of the wine of Amir.
Shama-e-Roshan Bujh Gyi, Bazm-e-Sukhan Matam Mein Hai
But today, my fellow singers, the whole garden is in mourning.
The bright candle has been extinguished. The company of poetry is lamenting.
Hum Nawa Hain Sub Anadil Bagh-e-Hasti Ke Jahan
The nightingale of Delhi made its nest in that garden,
Where its nightingale fellow‐singers are in the garden of existence.
Akhri Shayar Jahan Abad Ka Khamosh Hai
Dagh is dead. Alas! His corpse brings adornment to our shoulders.
The last poet of Shajahanabad is silent.
Aag Thi Kafoor-e-Peeri Mein Jawani Ki Nihan
Where is that elegant rakishness now? The coquettish style?
The fire of youth was ever hidden in the camphor of his old age.
Laila-e-Maani Wahan Be Parda, Yaan Mehmil Mein Hai
The desire that Dagh’s words expressed are in everyone’s heart.
The Layla of meaning with him was unveiled; with us she is hidden in the drapes of the camel‐litter.
Kon Samjhe Ga Chaman Mein Nala-e-Bulbul Ka Raaz
Now, who will ask of the morning breeze the secret of the peace of the rose?
Who will understand the mystery of the nightingale’s lament in the garden?
Aankh Taeer Ki Nasheman Par Rahi Parwaz Mein
He never neglected reality when his thoughts took flight.
The bird kept its eye on the nest as it flew.
Apne Fikr-e-Nukta Aara Ki Falak Pemaeeyan
There will be others to show us the delicacies of a subject—
The way that the finer points of their thought soar to the sky!
Ya Takhiyul Ki Nayi Dunya Humain Dikhlayen Ge
There will be those who paint pictures of the bitterness of time to make us weep
or show us a new world engendered by their imagination.
Saikron Sahir Bhi Hon Ge, Sahib-e-Ijaz Bhi
In this garden more nightingales of Shiraz will be born.
There will come forth myriad magicians, those who possess the art of spells.
Mai Pilayen Gen Aye Saqi Naye Pemane Se
From the temples of verse will arise thousands like Azar
And new wine‐pourers will give us wine to drink from new measures.
Hon Gi Ae Khawab-e-Jawani! Teri Taabeerain Bohat
Many commentaries will be written on the book of the heart.
There will be, oh dream of youth, many an interpretation of you.
Uth Gya Nawak Fagan, Mare Ga Dil Par Teer Kon?
But who will draw exactly the picture of love?
The archer has been taken away, who will fire the arrow at the heart?
Tu Bhi Ro Ae Khak-e-Dilli! Dagh Ko Rota Hun Main
I sow the seeds of tears in the soil of poetry.
You also weep, oh earth of Delhi! I weep for Dagh.
Ho Gya Phir Aaj Pamal-e-Khazan Tera Chaman
Oh Jahanabad! Oh wealth of the assembly of verse!
Your garden has once more today been trampled by autumn.
Ah! Khali Dagh Se Kashana-e-Urdu Huwa
That colourful flower of yours has departed like perfume.
Ah! The dwelling‐place of Urdu is bereft of Dagh.
Woh Mah-e-Kamil Huwa Pinhan Dakkan Ki Khak Mein
Perhaps there was no great attraction in the dust of his native‐land.
That full‐moon was hidden in the soil of the Deccan.
Yadgar-e-Bazm-e-Dehli Aik Hali Reh Gya
The wine‐pourers who were there have been taken from us and the tavern is empty.
As a monument to the assembly of Delhi only Hali remains.
Maarta Hai Teer Tareeki Mein Sayyad-e-Ajal
The injustice of death makes desire weep tears of blood.
The hunter of death fires his arrow in darkness.
Hai Khazan Ka Rang Bhi Wajah-e-Qayam-e-Gulistan
But my tongue can utter no complaint.
The colour of the autumn is also the cause of the garden’s permanence.
Bu-e-Gul Ka Bagh Se, Gulcheen Ka Dunya Se Safar
These are all the effects of the one universal law:
The perfume leaves the garden; the rose-plucker bids farewell to the world.