The Beloved( Janan) By Ghani Khan- An English Translation:

.

Two love-lit eyes, awash with hundreds of colours,

Drenched my world with colours and lights.

They made me taste, in this very world, draughts of the heavenly wine,

 Life strode into dreams, and my world got awash with dreams.

Scoops of an armful moonlight, you strew in the dust at my feet,

Guided me to my Lord aloft secrets of love.

You let tumble mounds of stars into my arms,

Hearken I songs of houries in the music of your melodies,

Guided me to my Lord in the deep secrets of Love.

( Rendered into English by Aslam Mir on 04.07.2020)

Majzoob: To The Butterfly : ( English Translation of Majzoob's Poem: Taroogi Ta تاروګي ته):

Majzoob: To The Butterfly:

( English Translation of Majzoob's Poem: Taroogi Ta تاروګي ته):

In the gentle vernal breeze, always bobbing up and down,

In a wild search of flowers, you fleet about in the fields,

Oblivious to all worries, like a child you prance about.

In a meadow of fresh flowers, you glide about,

Like a hourie strutting about in paradise,

Like drifting stars, twinkling here and there.

Your only concern is darting from flower to flower,

Peeping into the hearts of flowers, how strange is your job!

How ecstatic your soul must be! How lucky you are!

The flower, always, holds up the mirror of dew for you,

Fluffing up her bosom, longing to hold you in her embrace.

Her heart tingling with desire for you, but unable to voice her wish.

 Must have you clasped and tickled countless yellow mustard flowers,

Must have viewed and counted the spots deep in the tulips!

God Knows! How many beauties you must have you kissed in your age short!

Despite savouring these delights galore, tight-lipped you are,

Holding a  pack of secrets, you don’t confide in anybody,

All your delights, all your raptures, you lodge deep in your heart.

O the floral sprite, have you descended from the Caucasus?

Or sprang up from nearby meadow you little moth?

In your joyous life, you must not have experienced any sorrow!

Listen! O dainty one, listen! Bother a little for me,

With love, transport me with you, up above me,

Joyous you are and be joyful always! Let me jocund in your company!

Getting mired deeper day by day in the swamp of sorrows,

Dulled by the growing tedium of life at every moment,

 The older I grow, the heavier grows the load of sins.

Gone are the days when I was a child like you,

You must remember the times when I was younger, a child,

Nimble,  I sprinted after you in the fields of mustard.

Don’t be mistaken by my youth,  outwardly I might look strong,

You might be beguiled by my appearance but old I have grown,

Heartlessness of the rose-cheeked has wrung the life out of me.

(Rendered  into English by Aslam Mir on 23.6.2020)

Majzoob:An address to Pashto ( An English Translation of Majzoob’s poem’ Pakhtu ta- پښتو ته):

               An address to Pashto (An English Translation of Majzoob’s poem" Pakhtu ta- پښتو ته"):

My Pashtu, O my sweet Pashtu!                          Thy worries have curdled my blood,  Pashtu!

 You have been the co-traveller of Kings,

But they too have been indifferent to you.

The Mughals plundered everything of you,

Stripped you of every attire.

Pathans themselves have scorned you,

 Aloof they have kept themselves from you.

The people of The Cross did  flirt with  you,

But being the foreigners, a stranger they have treated you.

Even the mangiest ones have made fun of you,

They jeer at your mien and looks.

The roses at your bosom wilt in vain,

The Spring passes by in vain.

Nobody owned your graceful body,

Nobody kissed your rosy cheek.

What a pity! Whenever somebody falls in  love with you,

All the world takes him as their foe.

They harass your lovers on one or other pretext,

Some jail your lovers, some fetter them.

Why do you look on helplessly?

Why do you let them torment your lovers?

Don’t you wield the coquetry of the rose-cheeked ones?

Don’t you possess the grace of beauties, the pert?

Get up and muster the qualities of the pretty ones,

Summon up your allure and be vibrant.

 Still, your tresses  can raise storms,

 Still, your eyes can stir up fires.

 I see lightnings flash in your laughing,

 I see tumults stirred up by your every lovely act.

Where are your adoring Qalandaran[i]?

Where are those flame-eyed falcons?

O Jameely (the beauteous one) ! Where is thy Ajmal[ii]?

Where are sons of Khushal[iii], where is Aimal[iv], a second one?

Go, seek guidance from the Mahdi(the guided one),

Go, get a force  from Amir Hamza[v]

Go,  muster Toofan[vi]( a storm) upon your foes,

Go, let Khushal Khan march upon the Mughals.

  [i]Two poets of Pashtu with pen names of Qalandaran.

[ii] Ajmal Khatak, a great Pashtu poet. His name ( meaning The most handsome one)has a resemblance with the word Jameela(the beauteous one).Majzoob has played on this resemblance in phonetics and meanings.

[iii] Khushal Khan Khattak was a famous Pashtu poet, chieftain and warrior.

[iv] A Pathan warrior who fought against Mughals.

( Translated into English by Aslam Mir on 18.6.2020)

The Fire ( English Translation of Ghani Khan's Poem "Ore':

When my clay was kneaded, What kind of fire it was consigned into?
The fire, if I don’t put it out, it roasts me alive.
If I try to put it out, it roars into flames anew.
Moulded He all my being out of His spirit,
But let blended some devilish particles t00.
The nearer I got, the thicker He drew veils ,
When I strode to The Heaven, The Hell flung open its gate,
When I got nearer the Hell, somebody shouted me away, ’Beware! Beware!”.
Damn you! O The fire of my heart!
You spoiled the fun of life!


( Rendered into English by Aslam Mir on 17.6.2020)

The Nurse: Ghani Khan's Tribute to The Nursing Community! An English Translation:

The Nurse: Ghani Khan's Tribute to The Nursing Community!
An English Translation of his poem"Nurse".


Tending the ailing, the wretched is not mere a service, it is an act of worship,
Like mother, love and compassion is the very nature of The Eve!
This duel with death, indeed valour and manliness it is,
It is mercy amid fires of pain and a beacon in the darkness!
Every human is a child to a woman, symbol of her beauty and perfection,
If she is scorned, worth of whose else these people have acknowledged,
A herd of benighted asses, they trash into dust every gem.
To be a daughter of the beauty, a mother of the life; God created Eve,
But we, the bards, reduced her to a bar-tender or a flirt,
That wanton Western culture projected her a seductive temptress!
It neither made her a sister nor elevated her to a mother,
Neither letting her espouse the faith, nor this world,
The real forte of The Eve is compassion, affection and serving,
This duel with death is not only service, it is an act of worship!

( Rendered into English by Aslam Mir on 14.6.2020)

Majzoob:Ghazal: ( An ode of Majzoob translated into English):

Beside nazms, Majzoob has very exquisite ghazals(odes?) to his credit.
Though untranslatable in its peculiar beauty and expressiveness,
I have attempted to render it into English this gem of a ghazal from his book" dar-ul-awham".

( For the Pashtu Text of the Ghazal I am thankful to dear Raja Kashif).

Majzoob:Ghazal: ( An ode of Majzoob translated into English):


Only to the doorman, I could get, and life was weary and drained,
Let alone trudging the hard way to the beloved.
All it was the blessing of a Sun-visaged beauty,
An earthling like me had been vaulted to The Skies!
I tapped in my intuition secrets unique,
Digging into my inner being made me find the world.
Short is the saga of separation and union of love,
Found Him in every place I went.
Standing bewildered in my quest of The Truth,
In fleeing from the human beings I reached humanity.
What are you aiming with this talk of mystery and allusions O, Majzoob!
The meaning tangled up when I tried to get your point.

( Translated into English by Aslam Mir on 12.6.2020)

The Phoenix:(Quqnus ققنس)): An English Translation of Majzoob’s poem:

Phoenix is a fabulous, mythical long-lived bird that cyclically regenerates or is otherwise born again. Associated with the sun, a phoenix obtains new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor. Some legends say it dies in a show of flames and combustion, others that it simply dies and decomposes before being born again(Wikipedia). This poem of Majzoob is embedded in this myth and he says that the very foundation of his poetry and thoughts emerge from the ashes of the anguish, angst, perplexity he encounters in daily life and he asserts that the thoughts, imagination and craft of a poet and thinker are fed and nourished by problems, mysteries, enigmas, torments and anguishes he confronts in life.

The Phoenix:(Quqnus ققنس)): An English Translation of Majzoob’s poem:


Scorching my being away in your thoughts,
Obsessed by a vain urge, always trailed by it
There is a mystery, only you know the solution,
But I revel in mysteries, I don’t relish their solutions.
In these very bonfires, I craft songs,
May it never be possible! Let them be insoluble as they are!
May these sheaves of the reaped crop are never gathered,
Rather threshing them into corn, I immolate myself with them.
Smouldering inside, burning of the heart and soul is my nature,
Impelled by The Muses of my poetry, I am forced to tread only this path.
Bound by the forces of poetry’s anguish and pathos,
It is my only asset, the very faith and world of mine.
Set ablaze, like Phoenix, by the very fervour inside me,
Gutted to ashes, out of these very ashes, I get new birth!

(Translated into English by Aslam Mir on 10.6.2020)
( For the image of Pashtu Text of The Poem I am thankful to FB group MAJZOB,run by Zahid Amin of Serai Naurang)

The Beauty( Khkula): ښکلا ): An English Translation Of Majzoob's poem:

Here is an English Translation of Abdul Rahim Majzoob's poem" Khkula(ښکلا The Beauty) where he wonders that apparently all people decay into dust and reduced to rotten pieces of decomposed matter but the beauty attached to these beings seems immortal and he avers at the end of the poem that man is not bound to rot into dust. He and his/her beauty are immortal and this beauty is crafted by some mysterious artist!

The Beauty( Khkula): ښکلا ): An English Translation Of Majzoob's poem:

You must have seen flesh? You must have partaken of meat?
Tender and soft is flesh when it shapes into symmetry,
Delectable and beautiful it is!
But every flesh has its deadline and limits,
At last, reduced to fibers and tendons,
Turns into dry, rotten pulp,
Rotting away into dust.
If all flesh ends up in this way, whence is all this beauty?
It is separate from the flesh,
It is an effulgence of The Sufi’s heart,
It is not gloom, it is light!
It is the artistry of some artist,
It is an ode by a poet,
The art of a sculptor, sculpted out of the very blood of heart,
It is Behistoon! It is the stream of milk, dug out by Farhad,
It’s not a dark night, it is bright dawn,
Which has illuminated your life!
It is not delusion, it is an inspiration,
An Immortal divine commandment!

(Rendered into English by Aslam Mir on 5.6.2020)

ښکلا

تا به غوښه وي لیدلې تا به غوښه وي خوړلې
غوښه نرمه وي پسته وي تناسب یې چې موزون شي
مزېداره ښایسته وي
خو د غوښې هم خپل وخت خپله نېټه وي
آخر پاتې وزې پلې شي
وچه کلکه شي مُرداره شي خسته شي
تورو خارو کښې ورسته شي
که د غوښې دا انجام وي نو ښکلا د څه شي نام دے ؟
دا د غوښې نه جلا ده
د صوفي له زړه صفا ده
دا تیارۀ نه ده رڼا ده
دا تصویر د مصور دے
دا غزل د چا شاعر دے
سنګ تراش د جګر خون دے
جوی شیر او بېستون دے
توره شپه نه ده سحر دے
چې ستا ژوند پرې منور دے
وسوسه نه ده الهام دے
لازواله دا کلام دے

( For the Pashtu Text and picture I am thankful to Zahid Amin of serai Naurang!)

Majzoob’s poem “Solitude :(Tanhai)”- An English Translation:

Here is an English Translation of a poem of the renowned Marwat Pashtu poet Abdul Rahim Majzoob where he describes the
sudden emergence of clouds and rain and his musings about this phenomenon and the power behind these forces:
( I am thankful for the Pashtu text and image to Zahid Amin of Serai Naurang).

Majzoob’s poem “Solitude :(Tanhai)”- An English Translation:

Whence came the rain,
Suddenly cascaded water from the sky!
Could you fathom something of it?
Out in the fields, standing there,
How many beings, sweltering and thirsting,
With parched lips, waiting,
Almost scorched by the heat,
Who could have quenched their thirst?
How did the rain come up?
How that cloud gathered?
Torrents of rain water erupting forth,
Rolling the dikes away.
Somebody must have wrought this?
Whose Providence is this?
He must be Omnipotent, Compassionate,
Beyond the ken of our imagination!


( Rendered into English by Aslam Mir on 1st June 2020)

Down The Lane of Imagination:English Translation of Majzoob’s poem Kootha(کوڅه)

Here is an English Translation of a poem of the renowned Marwat Pashtu poet Abdul Rahim Majzoob where he describes the
realm of imagination and dreams in a spellbinding way:(Image of the original pashtu poem has also been given for which I am thankful to Asif Saleem):

Down The Lane of Imagination:English Translation of Majzoob’s poem Kootha(کوڅه):

Some are the lanes of this world,
Every nook of them desolate,
Strewn in them everywhere,
Dumps of garbage and rubble.
There is a lane made up of dreams and imagination,
Dreams and imagination of some beauties,
Charming are its scenes,
With flowers blooming everywhere,
Soul-stirring orchards,
Someone has planted here and there.
Like a soothing night,
Fetching deep silence, it stretches about,
Intoxicating the weary being, it sprawls about languidly,
Permeates the whole being.
Leaping off the flower, it glides away with the zephyr,
Raring to leap out,
It rushes ahead, turning into a waft of fragrance.
Similar a pageant of colors are my dreams about you,
Serene and tranquil is your lane,
Full of bliss, your lane matches heaven,
Your lane is bride, wreathed in flowers,
Awash with the scent of her garland of cloves ,
It swaying, swinging to and fro.
Nestled far up there,in the heavens,
In the clime of dreams,
In a far niche of the galaxy.

( Rendered into English by Aslam Mir on 29.5.2020 from Majzoob’s book “ Dar-Ul-Awham. I am thankful to my friend Syed-ul-Ameen for explanation of some Pashtu words and for the photo of Majzoob sahib to Zahid Amin.)

Majzoob's Hymn to God: “ I failed to recognize You( My God)!"(ما تۀ نۀ وپېژندلې )

Abdur Rahim Majzoob is a great Pashtu poet.
A living legend whose poetry is characterized by depth of thought, erudition, rich repertoire of local as well as classical lore and motifs. His exquisite diction, embedded in local dialects, spellbinds the reader.

Belonging to the Southern District Lakki Marwat of Khyber Pukhtunkhwa(Pakistan), he has blazed new trails in Pashtu poetry
which has immensely enriched the Pashtu literature.Detailed information about his life can be accessed at adabzar.blogspot.com and facebook group MAJZOB.
Here I am posting an English rendering of his HAMD(Hymn) in his book Dar-ul-Awham, titled as MA ta na wo pezhadaley( I failed to recognize You( My God!).
The poem describes in a beautiful symbolic way the theme,much cherished by Sufi poets, that God is manifested in various phenomenons but we fail to perceive
him becuase we are blinkered by our various worldly desires and engagements.

Majzoob's Hymn to God: “ I failed to recognize You( My God)!"(ما تۀ نۀ وپېژندلې)( English Rendering)

It was early evening; I could hear some distant shouts,
I thought this might be a beggar, knocking at some doors,
He might be begging for some scraps of bread,
Meanwhile my mind wandered off to some other things,
I failed to recognize You( My God) !
Lounging in my bed, I heard the bolt of the door rattled,
I brushed it off as some violent gust of wind,
A pitch dark night, dark clouds looming,
The moment I shut my eyes, sleep charmed me away,
Again I failed to recognize You!
At midnight some patter (on the roof) made me awake,
I thought it might be some rain, it might be drizzling,
The rain and wind made me fear for my crops of wheat and gram,
Amidst these apprehensions I dropped off to sleep,
I failed to recognize You !
Up in the rafters of the roof was a nest of the swallows,
In succession they were chirping out a variety of sounds and twitters,
What sweet , lilting music of those souls,
The day was breaking, birds were rising from sleep,
Again I failed to recognize You!
After sunrise I set out to eke out my living,
Spent all my day occupied in my daily jobs,
You must have crossed my path many a time,
But I was occupied with various errands, and these errands, You see, seldom end,
I failed to recognize You!
(Rendered Into English by Aslam Mir on 27.5.2020)

( Image: Courtesy: Zahid Amin-google group: Majzob, Syed-ul-Amin,Shabir Marwat)

Ghani Khan- Hymn(ثنا ) to God!

Pashtu philosopher poet Ghani Khan has been one of my favourite poets. While reading his poetry I sometimes try to translate him into English for better assimilation of the the beauty and depth of his poetry:
The poem given below,which I have tried to render into English, is second poem in his kuliyat(collections of poetry). It has been sung by Sardar Ali Takkar in his inimitable voice:
Following is my attempt to render this poem into English:


A Hymn:(ثنا)

Dark night of yours brings sometimes a torrent of sorrows,
Sometimes disguised as bar-tender and candle,
brings Khayyam and lyre!
Sometimes it turns into pitch darkness, sweeping everything into oblivion.
Sometimes it brings pageants of colours and raptures,
sometimes brings the sweetheart with her peals.
Sometimes submerged and restless it turns into an ocean of sobs.
Sometimes it changes into a mansion of colors,
bringing raptures and ecstasy.
All wild passions of mine is a serene glance of yours,
This Ocean of my beauty is just a drop from your rhapsody!

( Translated into English by Aslam Mir-13 August,2018)