I hurt? What then? Death will not hurt you, dearest, As you hurt me, for just a single night, You call me cruel, who laid my life in ruins To gain one little moment of delight.
Look up, look out, across the open doorway The sunlight streams. The distant hills are blue. Look at the pale, pink peach trees in our garden, Sweet fruit will come of them;--but not for you.
The fair, far snow, upon those jagged mountains That gnaw against the hard blue Afghan sky Will soon descend, set free by summer sunshine. You will not see those torrents sweeping by.
The world is not for you. From this day forward, You must lie still alone; who would not lie Alone for one night only, though returning I was, when earliest dawn should break the sky.
There lies my lute, and many strings are broken, Some one was playing it, and some one tore The silken tassels round my Hookah woven; Some one who plays, and smokes, and loves, no more!
Some one who took last night his fill of pleasure, As I took mine at dawn! The knife went home Straight through his heart! God only knows my rapture Bathing my chill hands in the warm red foam.
And so I pain you? This is only loving, Wait till I kill you! Ah, this soft, curled hair! Surely the fault was mine, to love and leave you Even a single night, you are so fair.
Cold steel is very cooling to the fervour Of over passionate ones, Beloved, like you. Nay, turn your lips to mine. Not quite unlovely They are as yet, as yet, though quite untrue.
What will your brother say, to-night returning With laden camels homewards to the hills, Finding you dead, and me asleep beside you, Will he awake me first before he kills?
For I shall sleep. Here on the cot beside you When you, my Heart's Delight, are cold in death. When your young heart and restless lips are silent, Grown chilly, even beneath my burning breath.
When I have slowly drawn my knife across you, Taking my pleasure as I see you swoon, I shall sleep sound, worn out by love's last fervour, And then, God grant your kinsmen kill me soon!
Yasmini
At night, when Passion's ebbing tide Left bare the Sands of Truth, Yasmini, resting by my side, Spoke softly of her youth.
"And one" she said "was tall and slim, Two crimson rose leaves made his mouth, And I was fain to follow him Down to his village in the South.
"He was to build a hut hard by The stream where palms were growing, We were to live, and love, and lie, And watch the water flowing.
"Ah, dear, delusive, distant shore, By dreams of futile fancy gilt! The riverside we never saw, The palm leaf hut was never built!
"One had a Tope of Mangoe trees, Where early morning, noon and late, The Persian wheels, with patient ease, Brought up their liquid, silver freight.
"And he was fain to rise and reach That garden sloping to the sea, Whose groves along the wave-swept beach Should shelter him and love and me.
"Doubtless, upon that western shore With ripe fruit falling to the ground, There dwells the Peace he hungered for, The lovely Peace we never found.
"Then there came one with eager eyes And keen sword, ready for the fray. He missed the storms of Northern skies, The reckless raid and skirmish gay!
"He rose from dreams of war's alarms, To make his daggers keen and bright, Desiring, in my very arms, The fiercer rapture of the fight!
"He left me soon; too soon, and sought The stronger, earlier love again. News reached me from the Cabul Court, Afterwards nothing; doubtless slain.
"Doubtless his brilliant, haggard eyes, Long since took leave of life and light, And those lithe limbs I used to prize Feasted the jackal and the kite.
"But the most loved! his sixteen years Shone in his cheeks' transparent red. My kisses were his first: my tears Fell on his face when he was dead.
"He died, he died, I speak the truth, Though light love leave his memory dim, He was the Lover of my Youth And all my youth went down with him.
"For passion ebbs and passion flows, But under every new caress The riven heart more keenly knows Its own inviolate faithfulness.
"Our Gods are kind and still deem fit As in old days, with those to lie, Whose silent hearths are yet unlit By the soft light of infancy.
"Therefore, one strange, mysterious night Alone within the Temple shade, Recipient of a God's delight I lay enraptured, unafraid.
"Also to me the boon was given, But mourning quickly followed mirth, My son, whose father stooped from Heaven, Died in the moment of his birth.
"When from the war beyond the seas The reckless Lancers home returned, Their spoils were laid across my knees About my lips their kisses burned.
"Back from the Comradeship of Death, Free from the Friendship of the Sword, With brilliant eyes and famished breath They came to me for their reward.
"Why do I tell you all these things, Baring my life to you, unsought? When Passion folds his wearied wings Sleep should be follower, never Thought.
"Ay, let us sleep. The window pane Grows pale against the purple sky. The dawn is with us once again, The dawn; which always means good-bye."
Within her little trellised room, beside the palm-fringed sea, She wakeful in the scented gloom, spoke of her youth to me.
Ojira, to Her Lover
I am waiting in the desert, looking out towards the sunset, And counting every moment till we meet. I am waiting by the marshes and I tremble and I listen Till the soft sands thrill beneath your coming feet.
Till I see you, tall and slender, standing clear against the skyline A graceful shade across the lingering red, While your hair the breezes ruffle, turns to silver in the twilight, And makes a fair faint aureole round your head.
Far away towards the sunset I can see a narrow river, That unwinds itself in red tranquillity; I can hear its rippled meeting, and the gurgle of its greeting, As it mingles with the loved and long sought sea.
In the purple sky above me showing dark against the starlight, Long wavering flights of homeward birds fly low, They cry each one to the other, and their weird and wistful calling, Makes most melancholy music as they go.
Oh, my dearest hasten, hasten! It is lonely here. Already Have I heard the jackals' first assembling cry, And among the purple shadows of the mangroves and the marshes Fitful echoes of their footfalls passing by.
Ah, come soon! my arms are empty, and so weary for your beauty, I am thirsty for the music of your voice. Come to make the marshes joyous with the sweetness of your presence, Let your nearing feet bid all the sands rejoice!
My hands, my lips are feverish with the longing and the waiting And no softness of the twilight soothes their heat, Till I see your radiant eyes, shining stars beneath the starlight, Till I kiss the slender coolness of your feet.
Ah, loveliest, most reluctant, when you lay yourself beside me All the planets reel around me--fade away, And the sands grow dim, uncertain,--I stretch out my hands towards you While I try to speak but know not what I say!
I am faint with love and longing, and my burning eyes are gazing Where the furtive Jackals wage their famished strife, Oh, your shadow on the mangroves! and your step upon the sandhills,-- This is the loveliest evening of my Life!
Thoughts: Mahomed Akram
If some day this body of mine were burned (It found no favour alas! with you) And the ashes scattered abroad, unurned, Would Love die also, would Thought die too? But who can answer, or who can trust, No dreams would harry the windblown dust?
Were I laid away in the furrows deep Secure from jackal and passing plough, Would your eyes not follow me still through sleep Torment me then as they torture now? Would you ever have loved me, Golden Eyes, Had I done aught better or otherwise?
Was I overspeechful, or did you yearn When I sat silent, for songs or speech? Ah, Beloved, I had been so apt to learn, So apt, had you only cared to teach. But time for silence and song is done, You wanted nothing, my Golden Sun!
What should you want of a waning star? That drifts in its lonely orbit far Away from your soft, effulgent light In outer planes of Eternal night?
Prayer
You are all that is lovely and light, Aziza whom I adore, And, waking, after the night, I am weary with dreams of you. Every nerve in my heart is tense and sore As I rise to another morning apart from you.
I dream of your luminous eyes, Aziza whom I adore! Of the ruffled silk of your hair, I dream, and the dreams are lies. But I love them, knowing no more Will ever be mine of you Aziza, my life's despair.