Birthday '09

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

- The Donkey by G.K. Chesterton

You!

if I know,
my life’s breath, o friend of my heart

if I know
the weariness of your heart
the sadness of your eyes
the desolate burning in your bosom
words of tender love
may erase

if my words of solace be the salve with which
your ravished soul, your withered mind
comes alive
your forehead is cleansed
of all marks of shame
your diseased youth
is forever cured

only if I know,
my soul’s whisper, o friend of my heart

night and day,
dawn to dusk,
I’ll balm your wounds
serenade your soul
with song, soft and sweet

songs of waterfalls
and spring
and lush meadows across a stream

songs of the light of dawn
and the moon
and far off stars, as if in a dream

and I’ll sing you tales of beauty and love
of how the icy bodies of unfeeling nymphs
tremble
stir
melt
at the caress of a warm hand

of how the unchanging look of a face familiar
changes beyond all knowing
in the flash of an eye

and the crystal glass of the lover’s cheek
rushes to burn up with a wine
a magical red rye

and how to the reaper of all its worth
the rosebush gaily does itself present
filling the night-chamber with a blissful scent

so, I’ll sing songs
just for you
sit by you,
create verse and song,
just for you

but my song, ‘tis not the cure you seek
may it be a soothing strain
soul penetrating it can not be
may it be a restful balm
a lance to your woes it can not be

your cure is naught
but a bayonet sharp,
a lance unto your woes

and its wielder
its whimsical, unflinching, merciless wielder
is not mine to own
nor anybody else’s among creation,
but yours
only yours
and yours alone.

- An attempt at translating Faiz's 'Meray Hamdam, Meray Dost'