I bow my head to your rule, and take You as my king. Grant me a warm new life or grant me a hot death 1289), and finally a poem by Amir Khusro (d. 1292), then another verse by Fakhr ad-din ‘Iraqi (d. This lovely performance begins with a verse by the celebrated Persian poet Sa’adi (d. Thousands of hearts of lovers like that of Khusrau.
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I shall be set free from the bonds of the two worldsīy your wanton playfulness you must have destroyed Pray do not be cruel lest you should feel ashamed of yourselfīefore your lovers on the day of judgment. How magnanimous of you? May God give you a long life. May you hold eternal sway over the domains of beauty.īy your amorous glance you have killed a poor man like me
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May your charming face ever shine like the full moon Posted in Persian, Qawwal | Tagged Amir Khusrow, qawwal | 1 Reply Your face like the moon Har qaum raast raahay, deen-e wa qibla gaahay… Guyyian main apnay pi kay payyan padun na kaahay. Makkay mein koyi dhoondhay, Kaashi ko koi jaaye, Sansaar har ko poojay, kul ko jagat sarahay, Mun qibla raast kardam, bar samt kajkulaahay. Transliteration: Har qaum raast raahay, deen-e wa qibla gaahay, So why can’t I, Oh wise ones, fall at my beloved’s feet? Some look for God in Mecca, while some go to Kashi (Benaras), The whole world worships something or the other, I have turned my face towards the crooked cap (of Nizamudin Awlyia) Khalq mi goyad ki Khusrau but parasti mi kunadĪarey aarey mi kunam ba khalq mara kaar neest.Įvery sect has a faith, a direction (Qibla) to which they turn, Makhuda daareem mara nakhuda darkaar neest Nakhuda dar kashti-e maagar nabashad go mubaash Har rag-e mun taar gashta hajat-e zunnaar neest Īz sar-e baaleen-e mun bar khez ay naadaan tabeebĭard mand-e ishq ra daroo bajuz deedaar neest Kafir-e-ishqam musalmani mara darkaar neest So he does, so he does the world he does not need. The people of the world say that Khusrau worships idols. We have God in our midst: the sea we do not need. If there be no pilot in our boat, let there be none: Other than this, no medicine does he need. The only cure for the patient of love is the sight of his beloved –
Leave my bedside, you ignorant physician! The (Christian/Magian) girdle I do not need. I am an infidel of love: the creed of Muslims I do not need Įvery vein of mine has become taunt like a wire,
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