NAWAB MIRZA KHAN DAGH
The grandeur of Ghalib1 has remained buried since long
Mahdi Majruh1 is the cemetery's resident since long
Death broke the decanter of Amir 1 in a strange country
The assembly's eye still has the ecstasy of the wine of Amir
However, today O Companion! The whole garden is mourning!
Lighted candle is extinguished, literary assembly is mourning!
The Delhi's nightingale made its nest in such a garden
Where all the world's nightingales are singing in a chorus
Ah Dagh has gone! His bier is on our shoulders
The last poet of Jahanabad 2 is finally silent
Gone is that smartness! Gone is that humor of style!
The fire of youth was veiled in the old age's camphor3
Every heart has the longing which the language of Dagh had
This Lailah was unveiled there, she is behind the veil here
Who will ask zephyr now the secret of silence of the rose?
Who in the garden will understand the secret of nightingale's wailing?
In his elegant imagination he was not unaware of reality
The bird's eye remained focused on the nest even in flight
Others will show us the subtleties of linguistic thought
The elevated elegance of the sagacity of their thought
They will make us cry painting the picture of time's vicissitudes
Or will show us the new world of their imagination
Nightingales of Shiraz 4 also will be born in this garden
There will be hundreds of magicians and masters of miracles
Thousands of ÿzars5 will rise from the temple of poetry
The new cup-bearers will serve wine from the new goblets
Many commentaries of the book of Love will be written
There will be many interpretations of the youths' dreams
However, who will draw the exact picture of Love?
The master having departed who will enchant the heart
I am sowing the seeds of tears in the soil of verse
You also cry, O Delhi's soil! I am crying for Dagh!
Ah! O The Ka'bah of the literateur's 6 religion
Your garden has been ruined by autumn today
That colorful rose of yours has departed like fragrance
That is, the abode of Urdu has become deprived of Dagh
Perhaps not much attraction was in the homeland's soil
That full moon has set in the soil of the Dakkan 7
The cup-bearers have left, the tavern has become deserted,
Only the memorable personality of Delhi's assembly has been left
The tyranny of death makes longing shed tears of blood
The archer of death shoots out arrows in the dark
However, the tongue cannot open in complaint
Autumn's style is also a prelude to garden's existence9
The one universal law creates all such results
Exit of fragrance from the garden, that of the gardener from the world