tum jo naa aa’e the to har chiiz vahii thii kih jo hai
aasmaaN hadd-e-nazar, raahguzar raahguzar, shiishaah-e-mai,
shiishaah-e-mai
aur ab shiishaah-e-mai, raahguzar, rang-e-falak
rang hai dil kaa mire, “xuun-e-jigar hone tak”
champaa’i rang kabhii, raahat-e-diidaar kaa rang
sur’ma’ii rang kabhii, saa’at-e-bezaar kaa rang
zard pattoN kaa xas-o-xaar kaa rang
surkh phuuloN kaa, dahakte hu’e gulzaar kaa rang
zahar kaa rang, lahuu rang. shab-e-taar kaa rang
aasmaaN, rahguzar, shiishaah-e-mai
koii bhiigaa hu’aa daaman, ko’ii dukhtii hu’ii rag
ko’ii har lahzaah badaltaa hu’aa aa’iinaah hai
ab jo aa’e ho to Thahro kih koii rang, koii rut ko’ii shai
ek jagah par Thahre
phir se ik baar har ik chiiz vahii ho ke jo hai
aasmaaN hadd-e-nazar, rahguzar rahguzar, shiishaah-e-mai,
shiishaah-e-mai
By Frances W. Pritchett
The Sky, the Road, the Glass of Wine: On Translating Faiz
It’s the Color of My Heart
Before you came everything
was what it is:
the sky the limit of sight
the road a road, the glass of wine
a glass of wine.
And now the glass of wine, the road, the color of the sky
are the color of my heart
while it breaks itself down
into blood.
Sometimes a gold color—a color of eyes’ delight
that sooty color, the color of disgust
the color of dry leaves, straw, thorns
the color of red flowers in a blazing garden
poison color, blood color, the color of black night.
The sky, the road, the glass of wine
are a sodden cloak, an aching vein,
a mirror changing every moment.
Now that you’ve come, stay—let some color, season, thing
stay in place.
One more time let everything
be what it is:
the sky the limit of sight
the road a road, the glass of wine
a glass of wine.
—
By Victor Kiernan
Poems by Faiz Pg 252-255
Before You Came
Before you came, all things were what they are—
The sky sight’s boundary, the road a road,
The glass of wine a glass of wine; since then,
Road, wineglass, colour of heaven, all have taken
The hues of this heart ready to melt into blood—
Now golden, as the solace of meeting is,
Now grey, the livery of despondent hours,
Or tint of yellowed leaves, of garden trash,
Or scarlet petal, a flowerbed all ablaze:
Colour of poison, colour of blood, or shade
Of sable night. Sky, highroad, glass of wine—
The first a tear-stained robe, the next a nerve
Aching, the last a mirror momently altering….
Now you have come, stay here, and let some colour,
Some month, some anything, keep its own place,
And all things once again be their own selves,
The sky sight’s bound, the road a road, wine wine.
—
By Naomi Lazard
The True Subject Pg 32-35
Before You Came
Before you came things were just what they were:
the road precisely a road, the horizon fixed,
the limit of what could be seen,
a glass of wine was no more than a glass of wine.
With you the world took on the spectrum
radiating from my heart: your eyes gold
as they open to me, slate the color
that falls each time I lost all hope.
With your advent roses burst into flame:
you were the artist of dried-up leaves, sorceress
who flicked her wrist to change dust into soot.
You lacquered the night black.
As for the sky, the road, the cup of wine:
one was my tear-drenched shirt,
the other an aching nerve,
the third a mirror that never reflected the same thing.
Now you are here again—stay with me.
This time things will fall into place;
the road can be the road,
the sky nothing but sky;
the glass of wine, as it should be, the glass of wine.
—
By Agha Shahid Ali
The Rebel’s Silhouette Pg 56-57
Before You Came
Before you came,
things were as they should be:
the sky was the dead-end of sight,
the road was just a road, wine merely wine.
Now everything is like my heart,
a color at the edge of blood:
the grey of your absence, the color of poison, or thorns,
the gold when we meet, the season ablaze,
the yellow of autumn, the red of flowers, of flames,
and the black when you cover the earth
with the coal of dead fires.
And the sky, the road, the glass of wine?
The sky is a shirt wet with tears,
the road a vein about to break,
and the glass of wine a mirror in which
the sky, the road, the world keep changing.
Don’t leave now that you’re here—
Stay. So the world may become like itself again:
so the sky may be the sky,
the road a road,
and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.
—
By Shiv K. Kumar
Faiz Ahmed Faiz: Selected Poems pg 126-127
The Colour of the Moment
Before you came, everything was what it is—
the sky, vision-bound
the pathway, the wine-glass.
And now the wine-glass, the pathway, the sky’s tint—
everything bears the colour of my heart
till all melts into blood.
Sometimes the golden tinge, sometimes the hue of the joy of
seeing you,
sometimes ashen, the shade of the dreary moment—
the colour of yellow leaves, of thorn and trash,
of the crimson petals of the flower-beds aglow,
the tint of poison, of blood, of sable night.
The sky, the pathway, the wine-glass—
some tear-stained robe, some wincing nerve,
some ever-revolving mirror.
Now that you’re here, stay on
so that some colour, some season, some object may come to rest
and once again everything may become what it was—
the sky, vision-bound, the pathway, the wine-glass.
Juvenilia 