First ghazal in letter bē

By Khvaja Mir Dard

Torpid, extinct---but a knife turns

Like a wave of the mirage, let me be troubled. 

The glittering folk travel light.
Their fountain is the sun: they must beg for water. 

The comfort of the fallen is death.
The reverie of the footprint is to wear away. 

Is there no shame on earth?
A flow of tears is not a mean thing. 

Fine vessels are misplaced in this company. 

The wine-cup is not an ornament. 

Let the bold keep their footing, 

Lest the wine-jar totter on its stand. 

The dead may not laugh. But the grave 

Hides a smile. What accounts for it? 

Hard work! - the banqueters warm to their task. 

The heart of friends - O Dard - is a mouthful. 

By Khvaja Mir Dard, translated by Ian Bedford in “Twelve Ghazals from the Divan,” Annual of Urdu Studies 22 (2007)