Mir Taqi Mir

on the road to heresy

Stratagems all came apart, no cure could render remedy, it was this ailment of my heart, that finished me off finally. Copious tears, in youth I shed, in dotage shut eyes tiredly, night I stayed away form bed, come morning now lie peacefully. It's my fate that's inclement, no fault is of her clemency, message that she earlier sent, happened to be a death decree. Us weak, she wrongfully accuses, of taking untold liberty, while she acts as she chooses, and maligns us needlessly. All drunk and vagabonds that be, of the world submit to thee, crooked, crafty, bent, shifty, their leader all they deem you be. Even in a maddened state, irreverent I could not be, miles I went toward her gate, kowtowing incessantly. What is Mecca's mosque and say who is concerned with piety, in her street who choose to stay, bow from here itself you see. The priest nude in the mosque today, last night in the tavern he gave all his pious clothes away, whilst on a drunken spree. If her face she would unveil, whilst alive I chanced to be, if later than to what avail, if her face then all could see. In this play of black and white, it's all I am allowed to be, bring in the dawn, crying all night, spend dawn to dusk in agony. Perchance the morning breeze had paved her journey to the bower, the cypress by her form enslaved, and by her face the flower. Both her silver wrists I held in my hands then set them free, how her promises dispelled my senses, made a lot of me. All my efforts were annulled by my beseeching constantly, her indifference just quadrupled, the more I sought insistently. For such a swift alert gazelle, it's hard to shed timidity, if someone could rein in, compel, a miracle would surely be. Why is it you seek to know, of Miir's religion, sect, for he sits in temples, painted brow, well on the road to heresy.

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