لالہ

آن شعلہ ام کہ صبح ازل در کنار عشقپیش از نمود بلبل و پروانہ می تپید

I am the flame which on creation’s dawn was kindled in love’s heart before the nightingale and the moth came to play their sacrificial part.

افزونترم ز مہر و بھر ذرہ تن زنمگردون شرار خویش ز تاب من آفرید

I am far bigger than the sun, and pour into each atom’s core a potion of my light: I lend my spark to everyone, and it was I who made the heavens so bright.

در سینہ چمن چو نفس کردم آشیانیک شاخ نازک از تہ خاکم چو نم کشید

Residing like its life-breath in the garden’s breast, in pristine rest, I was drawn up into its bosom by a tree-stem, delicate and thin, as sap that rises up towards the sky.

سوزم ربود و گفت یکی در برم بایستلیکن دل ستم زدۂ من نیارمید

It quenched my inner fire and, wanting to beguile me, it said, ‘Stay awhile, and don’t go out into the day’; but my heart’s long-repressed desire could brook no more delay.

در تنگنای شاخ بسی پیچ و تاب خوردتا جوہرم بہ جلوہ گہ رنگ و بو رسید

I writhed and writhed within the tree, encaged, enraged, until the essence of my being found its way to summits of the ecstasy of self-display.

شبنم براہ من گھر آبدار ریختخندید صبح و باد صبا گرد من وزید

With its pearls of the purest water dew bestrewed my way, as if to say, ‘O what a glorious birth!’ The morning laughed its brightest hue: the breezes blew in hymeneal mirth.

بلبل ز گل شنید کہ سوزم ربودہ اندنالید و گفت جامۂ ہستی گران خرید

The nightingale heard from the rose that I had thrown away my own primordial consuming flame. It said, because this crowned its woes, ‘He paid a heavy price to thrive. For shame!’

وا کردہ سینہ منت خورشید می کشمآیا بود کہ باز بر انگیزد آتشم؟

I now stand by my breast rent open to the sun’s effulgence so that it may set ablaze again the fire of my prenatal days.