Repeating The Name Of The Beloved

Repeating the name of the Beloved
I have become the Beloved myself.
Whom shall I call the Beloved now?

by Bulleh Shah.

Love.
So many different ways
to have been in love.


The maidservants
Trying to take a peep
Knock down the screen!

by Nozawa Bonchō.

Endorsement To The Deed Of Separation In The April Of 1816

A year ago, you swore, fond she!
'To love, to honour,' and so forth:
Such was the vow you pledged to me,
And here's exactly what 'tis worth.

by George Gordon Byron.

As Daphne did from tuneful Phoebus fly,
Still must his Sons expect an equal Fate!
For cruel Beauty doom'd in vain to sigh,
And find their Tenderness repaid with Hate.

by Samuel Boyse.

Your Love Has Made Me Dance All Over

Your love has made me dance all over.
Falling in love with you
Was supping a cup of poison.
Come, my healer, it's my final hour.
Your love has made me dance all over.

by Bulleh Shah.

God, whose love and joy are present everywhere

God, whose love and joy are present everywhere,
Can't come to visit you unless you aren't there.

English version by Gabriel Rosenstock
Original Language German

by Angelus Silesius.

I Have Got Lost In The City Of Love

I have got lost in the city of love,
I am being cleansed,
withdrawing myself from my head,
hands and feet.
I have got rid of my ego, and have attained my goal.
Thus it has all ended well.
O Bullah, the Lord pervades both the worlds;
None now appears a stranger to me.

by Bulleh Shah.

Dorinda's Sparkling Wit And Eyes

Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes,
United, cast too fierce a light,
Which blazes high but quickly dies,
Warms not the heart but hurts the sight.

Love is a calm and tender joy,
Kind are his looks and soft his pace;
Her Cupid is a blackguard boy
That runs his link into your face.

by Charles Sackville.

This Love - O Bulleh - Tormenting, Unique

This love - O Bulleh - tormenting, unique
the face of the idol akin to the divine in heaven
can there be divinity without my beloved
even if I have to contest the scriptures
this love is fearless, marches to death in defiance
dances and whirls like a street prostitute,
to win a single smile from the beloved

by Bulleh Shah.

There Goes My Love!

There goes my Love!
What do I do, my Lord?

He's already made a move
His staying back is hard
With his wayfarers all packed
What do I do, my Lord?

My heart is afire
Like half-backed shard
What do I do, my Lord?

My love having gone
I am in midstream hauled
Wwhat do I do, my Lord?

by Bulleh Shah.

What is more tender than a mother's love
To the sweet infant fondling in her arms?
What need of arguments her heart to move
To hear its cries, and help it out of harms?
Now, if the tend'rest mother were possest
Of all the love, within her single breast,
Of all the mothers since the world began,
'Tis nothing to the love of God to man.

by John Byrom.

The City Of Baghdad

The city of Baghdad* is graced With tall,
elegant cypresses,
My fond memories of that fair city.

Tear my heart to shreds,
Like waste cloth in a tailor's shop.

Wearing a cloak made with these shreds,
I will join the beggars in the lanes of Baghdad

And beg for alms, calling out:
'O Meeran, Meeran, my beloved Master! ' **

by Sultan Bahu.

I'M Your Slave, You Are My Love

I'm your slave, you are my love,
I turn to you, my beloved,
Save me now or let me perish,
Take and choose the best solution,
I lament and am in torment,
Heavy on me lies this planet,
I to perish would prefer
And save myself from love's affliction
Yet in spite of all our anguish,
Will our lovers not address us,
We are slaves in desolation,
Let them fetch us and despatch us.

by Nezim Frakulla.

He Who Is Stricken By Love

He who is stricken by Love
Sings and dances out of tune.

He who wears the garb of Love
Gets blessings from above.

Soon as he drinks from this cup
No questions and no answers remain.

He who is stricken by Love
Sings and dances out of tune.

He who has the Beloved in his heart,
He is fulfilled with his Love.
No need he has for formality,
He just enjoys his ecstasy.

He who is stricken by Love
Sings and dances out of tune.

by Bulleh Shah.

The Arrow Of Love

I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do ?
I can neither live, nor can I die.
Listen ye to my ceaseless outpourings,
I have peace neither by night, nor by day.
I cannot do without my Beloved even for a moment.
I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do ?
The fire of separation is unceasing !
Let someone take care of my love.
How can I be saved without seeing him?
I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do?

by Bulleh Shah.

I Have Been Pierced By The Arrow Of Love

I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do?
I can neither live, nor can I die.
Listen ye to my ceaseless outpourings,
I have peace neither by night, nor by day.
I cannot do without my
Beloved even for a moment.
I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do?
The fire of separation is unceasing!
Let someone take care of my love.
How can I be saved without seeing him?
I have been pierced by the arrow of love,
what shall I do?

by Bulleh Shah.

A Song. High State And Honours To Others Impart

High state and honours to others impart,
But give me your heart:
That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.

So gentle a love, so fervent a fire,
My soul does inspire;
That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.
Your love let me crave;
Give me in possessing
So matchless a blessing;
That empire is all I would have.
Love's my petition,
All my ambition;
If e'er you discover
So faithful a lover,
So real a flame,
I'll die, I'll die,
So give up my game.

by John Dryden.

Fair Iris I Love And Hourly I Die

Fair Iris I love and hourly I die,
But not for a lip nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there I agree;
For I am as false and as fickle as she:
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.

'Tis civil to swear and say things, of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse.
When present we love, when absent agree;
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:
The legend of love no couple can find
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.

by John Dryden.

O Come And Meet This Separation-Tormented One

O come and meet this separation-tormented one!

Had you loved, you too would shriek and wail aloud.
But how could you know the pain of another?

If you want to receive love,
First of all, give your severed head to your lord.

The intoxicated ones have crossed over,
My fate is in your hands.

This river of sorow, this unjust torment,
Has flung me into a ruinous darkness.

I left my parents, forgot my friends,
In devotion to your merciful name.

O come and meet this separation-tormented one!

by Bulleh Shah.

I lost the love of heaven above,
I spurned the lust of earth below,
I felt the sweets of fancied love
And hell itself my only foe.

I lost earth's joys but felt the glow
Of heaven's flame abound in me
Till loveliness and I did grow
The bard of immortality.

I loved but woman fell away
I hid me from her faded fame,
I snatched the sun's eternal ray
And wrote till earth was but a name

In every language upon earth,
On every shore, o'er every sea,
I give my name immortal birth
And kept my spirit with the free.

by John Clare.

WE are born; we laugh; we weep;
We love; we droop; we die!
Ah! wherefore do we laugh or weep?
Why do we live, or die?
Who knows that secret deep?
Alas, not I!

Why doth the violet spring
Unseen by human eye?
Why do the radiant seasons bring
Sweet thoughts that quickly fly?
Why do our fond hearts cling
To things that die?

We toil,—through pain and wrong;
We fight,—and fly;
We love; we lose; and then, ere long,
Stone-dead we lie.
O life! is all thy song
“Endure and—die”?

by Barry Cornwall.

I Long For My Beloved

I long for my beloved.

One speaks, laughing in delight,
Another weeps, sobs, dies.
Tell the beautiful, blossoming springtime,
I long for my beloved.

My ablutions have gone to waste,
His heart is hard.
Might as well burn my jewels and adornments!
I long for my beloved.

I have driven messengers crazy,
Encased myself in sorrow.
Come home, dear one, let me see you.
I long for my beloved.

Says Bulla, when my lord comes home.
I will clasp him, my Ranjha, in a tight embrace!
All sorrows flown across the ocean.
I long for my beloved.

by Bulleh Shah.

Stanzas To A Lady, With The Poems Of Camoëns

This votive pledge of fond esteem,
Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou'lt prize;
It sings of Love's enchanting dream,
A theme we never can despise.

Who blames it but the envious fool,
The old and disappointed maid;
Or pupil of the prudish school,
In single sorrow doom'd to fade?

Then read, dear girl! with feeling read,
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
To thee in vain I shall not plead
In pity for the poet's woes.

He was in sooth a genuine bard;
His was no faint, fictitious flame.
Like his, may love be thy reward,
But not thy hapless fate the same.

by George Gordon Byron.

If The Heart Achieves The Status Of A Mirror

If the heart achieves the status of a mirror
The sight of the beloved [God] is free

O [my] tongue, help me [and speak], as today [my] beloved
Is awaiting to hear the splendid description [of her beauty]

Do not ask Bu Ali* about the wisdom of love
He has not learned the rules of this art

The mirror, sitting together with you [O my love]
Has roused the envy of the bed of roses

([Lovers] in peace are wakeful, because of you
"Paupers have no fear of robbers"

[O my love] just have a look at "Vali" for a while
He is waiting for your sight since the morning

by Wali Mohammed Wali.

Song From Marriage-A-La-Mode

Why should a foolish marriage vow,
Which long ago was made,
Oblige us to each other now,
When passion is decayed?
We loved, and we loved, as long as we could,
Till our love was loved out in us both;
But our marriage is dead when the pleasure is fled:
'Twas pleasure first made it an oath.

If I have pleasures for a friend,
And farther love in store,
What wrong has he whose joys did end,
And who could give no more?
'Tis a madness that he should be jealous of me,
Or that I should bar him of another;
For all we can gain is to give ourselves pain,
When neither can hinder the other.

by John Dryden.

Love in Fantastique Triumph satt,
Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd,
For whom Fresh pains he did create,
And strange Tryanic power he show'd;
From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire,
Enough to undo the Amorous World.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his Pride and Crueltie;
From me his Languishments and Feares,
And every Killing Dart from thee;
Thus thou and I, the God have arm'd,
And sett him up a Deity;
But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the Victor is, and free.

by Aphra Behn.

If That High World

If that high world, which lies beyond
Our own, surviving Love endears;
If there the cherish'd heart be fond,
The eye the same, except in tears -
How welcome those untrodden spheres!
How sweet this very your to die!
To soar from earth and find all fears
Lost in thy light - Eternity!

It must be so: 'tis not for self
That we so tremble on the brink;
And striving to o'erleap the gulf,
Yet cling to Being's severing link.
Oh! in that future let us think
To hold each heart the heart that shares;
With them the immortal waters drink,
And soul in soul grow deathless theirs

by George Gordon Byron.

Hide Not Behind The Veil, My Love

Hide not behind the veil, my love,
I long to have a glimpse of you.

Without my love, I feel like mad,
People around me laugh at me.
He should come and cheer me up,
This alone remains my plea,

Hide not behind the veil, my love,
I long to have a glimpse of you.

Your slave is being auctioned free
Come my love and rescue me
No longer can I perch elsewhere
I am the Bulbul of your tree

Hide not behind the veil, my love,
I long to have a glimpse of you.

Bulleh! Who is He?
A queer type friend!
He has the Quran in His hand and
And in the same the holy thread

by Bulleh Shah.

Ah! why so brief the visit, short his stay?
The acquaintance so surprising, and so sweet,
Stolen is my heart, 't is journeying far away,
With that shy stranger whom my voice did greet.
That hour so fertile of entrancing thought,
So rapt the conversation, and so free,
My heart lost soundings, tenderly upcaught,
Driven by soft sails of love and ecstasy!
Was I then? was I? clasped in Love's embrace,
And touched with ardors of divinity?
Spake with my chosen lover face to face,
Espoused then truly? such my destiny?
I cannot tell; but own the pleasing theft,
That when the stranger went, I was of Love bereft.

by Amos Bronson Alcott.

On A Fan Of The Author's Design

Come gentle Air! th' AEolian shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade:
Come, gentle Air, the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play!
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove;
Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives:
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.

by Alexander Pope.

The April rains are past, the frosts austere,
The flowers are hungering for the genial sun,
The snow 's dissolved, the merry birds are here,
And rural labors now are well begun.
Hither, from the disturbing, noisy Court
I 've flown to this sequestered, quiet scene,
To meditate on Love and Love's disport
Mid these smooth pastures and the meadows green.
Sure 't were no fault of mine, no whispering sin,
If these coy leaves he sends me seem to speak
All that my heart, caressing, folds within;
Nor if I sought to smother, my flushed cheek
Would tell too plainly what I cannot hide,
Fond fancy disenchant nor set aside.

by Amos Bronson Alcott.

Perverse Times Have Come

Perverse times have come,
I know the mystery of the beloved
crows have begun to hunt hawks,
and sparrows feed on falcons
horses bear the whipping,
while donkeys graze on lush green
no love is lost between relatives,
be they younger or elder uncles
There is no accord between fathers and sons,
Nor any between mothers and daughters
The truthful ones are being pushed about,
the tricksters are seated close by
The front liners have become wretched,
the back benchers sit on carpets
Those in tatters have turned into kings,
the kings have taken to begging
O Bulleh, that which is His command
who can alter His decree.

by Bulleh Shah.

Oh! Snatched Away In Beauty's Bloom

Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of ' the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!

Away I we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou - who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

by George Gordon Byron.

Sonnet To The Nightingale

O nightingale that on yon blooming spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hopes the Lover’s heart dost fill,
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill,
Portend success in love. O if Jove’s will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet had’st no reason why.
Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

by John Milton.

Is Love A Fire?

Is love a fire? Can love melt iron?
Am I like fire and full of the pain of love?
Out of what is the heart of my lover?
If it were made of iron then I could melt it with my fire.

If it were made of gold I could bend it
with my glow, should it made of flesh
so I see: it is a stone made of flesh.
However, a stone cannot betray me like she does.

But if her heart were like frost, as cold as snow and ice
Then how can she make me hot with love?
I think: her heart is like laurel leaves

Which are not touched by any thunderstorm
She laughs about you, Cupid, and your arrow
She is immune to your thunderstorm

by Sibylla Schwarz.

She Walks In Beauty

She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

by George Gordon Byron.

Love Lives Beyond The Tomb

Love lives beyond
The tomb, the earth, which fades like dew-
I love the fond,
The faithful, and the true.
Love lies in sleep,
The happiness of healthy dreams,
Eve's dews may weep,
But love delightful seems.
'Tis seen in flowers,
And in the even's pearly dew
On earth's green hours,
And in the heaven's eternal blue.

'Tis heard in spring
When light and sunbeams, warm and kind,
On angels wing
Bring love and music to the wind.
And where is voice
So young, so beautiful, so sweet
As nature's choice,
Where spring and lovers meet?
Love lies beyond
The tomb, the earth, the flowers, and dew.
I love the fond,
The faithful, young, and true.

by John Clare.

Love And Discipline

Since in a land not barren still
(Because Thou dost Thy grace distill)
My lot is fallen, blest be Thy will!

And since these biting frosts but kill
Some tares in me which choke or spill
That seed Thou sow'st, blest be Thy skill!

Blest be Thy dew, and blest Thy frost,
And happy I to be so crossed,
And cured by crosses at Thy cost.

The dew doth cheer what is distressed,
The frosts ill weeds nip and molest;
In both Thou work'st unto the best.

Thus while Thy several mercies plot,
And work on me now cold, now hot,
The work goes on and slacketh not;

For as Thy hand the weather steers,
So thrive I best, 'twixt joys and tears,
And all the year have some green ears.

by Henry Vaughan.

Song From An Evening's Love

After the pangs of a desperate lover,
When day and night I have sighed all in vain,
Ah, what a pleasure it is to discover
In her eyes pity, who causes my pain!

When with unkindness our love at a stand is,
And both have punished ourselves with the pain,
Ah, what a pleasure the touch of her hand is!
Ah, what a pleasure to touch it again!

When the denial comes fainter and fainter,
And her eyes give what her tongue does deny,
Ah, what a trembling I feel when I venture!
Ah, what a trembling does usher my joy!

When, with a sigh, she accords me the blessing,
And her eyes twinkle 'twixt pleasure and pain,
Ah, what a joy 'tis beyond all expressing!
Ah, what a joy to hear 'Shall we again!'

by John Dryden.

MY Damon was the first to wake
   The gentle flame that cannot die;
My Damon is the last to take
   The faithful bosom's softest sigh:
The life between is nothing worth,
   O cast it from thy thought away!
Think of the day that gave it birth,
   And this its sweet returning day.

Buried be all that has been done,
   Or say that naught is done amiss;
For who the dangerous path can shun
   In such bewildering world as this?
But love can every fault forgive,
   Or with a tender look reprove;
And now let naught in memory live
   But that we meet, and that we love.

by George Crabbe.