ساقی نامہ

خوشا روزگاری خوشا نوبہارینجوم پرن رست از مرغزاری

O what a happy season this! O what a joyous time! The meadows are star-spangled with fresh flowers in spring’s prime.

زمین از بھاران چو بال تذرویز فوارہ الماس بار آبشاری

Like partridge-wings the ground is pied with variegated flowers. How bountiful the waterfall! What diamonds it showers!

نپیچد نگہ جز کہ در لالہ و گلنغلطد ہوا جز کہ بر سبزہ زاری

Of roses and of tulips what a riot meets the eye! The breezes frolicsomely roll on miles of greenery.

لب جو خود آرائی غنچہ دیدیچہ زیبا نگاری چہ آئینہ داری

Have you seen mirrored in the stream the self-admiring bud? What fascinating beauty and what unabashed self-pride!

چہ شیرین نوائی چہ دلکش صدائیکہ می آید از خلوت شاخساری

O what a mellifluous song, in what a lovely tune, from some bird hidden in a tree, singing as if alone!

بتن جان بجان آرزو زندہ گرددز آوای ساری ز بانگ ہزاری

The starling and the nightingale with song resuscitate the spirit in the body and old longings in the spirit.

نوا ہای مرغ بلند آشیانیدر آمیخت با نغمہ جویباری

From high-perched nests up in the trees the songsters’ warblings seem to cascade down and mingle with the babblings of the stream.

تو گوئی کہ یزدان بہشت برین رانہاد است در دامن کوہساری

You would think God had graciously sent down His Paradise and placed it at a mountain’s foot for human ears and eyes.

کہ تا رحمتش آدمی زادگان رارہا سازد از محنت انتظاری

To hear and see, in order to spare man the long suspense and agony of waiting till he’s ready to go hence.

چہ خواہم درین گلستان گر نخواہمشرابی، کتابی، ربابے نگاری

What better things could I wish for in such a pleasure-garden than wine, a book, a lute and ah! A fair companion?

سرت گردم اے ساقی ماہ سیمابیار از نیاگان ما یادگاری

My life, O moon-faced saki, for a single gracious boon: Awaken in me memories of forebears long since gone.

بہ ساغر فرو ریز آبی کہ جان رافروزد چو نورے بسوزد چو ناری

Come pour into my empty glass the stuff which has no name, which lights the soul up like a lamp and burns it like a flame.

شقایق برویان ز خاک نژندمبہشتی فرو چین بہ مشت غباری

I pray to you make tulips grow from my exhausted clay and build a paradise from dust now mouldering away.

نبینی کہ از کاشغر تا بہ کاشانھمان یک نوا بالد از ہر دیاری

O don’t you know that east and west, from Kashghar to Kashan, there is going up one grand song replete with life’s elan?

ز چشم امم ریخت آن اشک نابیکہ تأثیر او گل دماند ز خاری

The peoples’ eye has shed at last that purest of all tears whose magic can compel the rose to grow on prickly pears.

کشیری کہ با بندگی خو گرفتہبتی می تراشد ز سنگ مزاری

But oh! This poor Kashmiri who, in slavery born and bred, is busy carving idols from the tombstones of the dead.

ضمیرش تہی از خیال بلندیخودی ناشناسی ز خود شرمساری

His mind is blank and quite devoid of any higher thought; so ignorant of his own self and by self-shame distraught!

بریشم قبا خواجہ از محنت اونصیب تنش جامۂ تارتاری

His master goes clad in fine silk, all woven with his sweat; but tatters, patches, rags and shreds are all his body’s lot.

نہ در دیدۂ او فروغ نگاہینہ در سینۂ او دل بیقراری

There is not in his eye the light of vision that reveals, nor does there in his bosom beat the living heart that feels.

از آن می فشان قطرہ ئی برکشیریکہ خاکسترش آفریند شراری

Come pour a drop upon him of your soul-enkindling wine, and from his smouldering ashes make a spark leap up and shine.