Go to your pillow and sleep, my son.
Leave me alone in the passion
Of this death-night.
Let the mill turn with your grieving.
But stay clear. Don’t fall
into the river with me.
There’s no way out,
no cure but death.
Last night in a dream I saw an old man
standing in a garden.
It was all Love.
He held out his hand and said,
Come toward me.
If there is a dragon on this path,
that old man has the emerald face
that can deflect it.
This is enough
I am leaving me self.
Bahauddin, my son,
if you want to be impressively learned,
memorize a famous historian,
and quote him as someone else!
tazmin
ġham tumhārā thā zindagī goyā tum ko khoyā use nahīñ khoyā fart-e-girya se jī na halkā ho bas yahī soch kar nahīñ royā ashk to ashk haiñ sharāb se bhī maiñ ne ye dāġh-e-dil nahīñ dhoyā maiñ vo kisht-e-nashāt kyoñ kāTūñ jis ko maiñ ne kabhī nahīñ boyā aabla aabla thī jaañ phir bhī bār-e-hastī
