بوی گل

حوری بہ کنج گلشن جنت تپید و گفتما را کسی ز آنسوی گردون خبر نداد

Bored in a coign of the Garden of Eden, a houri woefully cried: ‘Nobody told us of the things that happen on Eden’s nether side.

ناید بفہم من سحر و شام و روز و شبعقلم ربود این کہ بگویند مرد و زاد

‘What are morning, evening, night and day? They are all above my head. O tell me what they mean when they say one is born or one is dead.’

گردید موج نکہت و از شاخ گل دمیدپا اینچنین بہ عالم فردا و دی نہاد

Changing herself to a breath of fragrance, she appeared in a rose’s form; and in this way she took up residence where day and night are the norm.

وا کرد چشم و غنچہ شد و خندہ زد دمیگل گشت و برگ برگ شد و بر زمین فتاد

She opened her eyes and became a bud: Then she laughed and she burst forth into a rose; but presently shed her petals in the dust.

زان نازنین کہ بند ز پایش گشادہ اندآہی است یادگار کہ بو نام دادہ اند

Of that innocent damsel who chose to fly from Eden’s magic frame there is one memento left a sigh, and fragrance is its name.