Taj Mahal by Sahir Ludhianvi: a new translation

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Taj Mahal 
by
Sahir Ludhianvi

Taaj tere liye ek mazaar-e-ulfat hi sahi

Tumko is vaadi-e-rangeen se aquidat hi sahi

Mere mehboob kahin aur milaa kar mujhse

Bazm-e-shaahi mein gareebon ka guzar kya maani

Sabt jis raah pe ho satwat-e-shaahi ke nishaan

Us pe ulfat bhari roohon ka safar kya maani

Mere mehboob paas-e-pardah-e-tasheer-e-wafaa

Tu ne satwat ke nishaanon ko to dekhaa hotaa

Murdaashaahon ke maqaabir se behelnewaali

Apne taareeq makaanon ko to dekhaa hotaa

Anginat logon ne duniyaa mein muhabbat ki hain

Kaun kehtaa hai ki saadiq na the jazbe unke

Lekin unke liye tasheer ka saamaan nahin

Kyonki who log bhi apni hi tarah muflis the

Yeh imaarat-o-maqaabir, yeh faseelein, yeh hisaar

Mutalqulhukm shahenshaahon ki azmat ke sutoon

Daaman-e-dehr pe us rang ki gulkaari hai

Jisme shaamil hain tere aur mere ajdaad ka khoon

Mere mehboob, unhe bhi to muhabbat hogi

Jinki sannaaee ne bakshi hai ise shakl-e-jameel

Unke pyaaron ke maqaabir rahe benaam-o-namood

Aaj tak un pe jalaayee na kisi ne qandeel

Yeh chamanzaar, ye jamunaa ka kinaaraa, yeh mahal

Yeh munaqqash dar-o-deewaar, yeh mehraab, yeh taaq

Ik shahenshaah ne daulat kaa sahaaraa lekar

Hum gareebon ki muhabbat kaa udaayaa hai mazaaq

Mere mehboob kahin aur milaa kar mujhse

Taj Mahal

translated by

Mustansir Dalvi

For you, my love, the Taj

may well be the quintessence
of ardour; while full well

may you regard

this exquisite vale. Even so,

dear one, let us meet

someplace else.

What worth, these lowly ones,

loitering in the halls of the lords,

where on every path lie etched

remains of pomp and glory?

What worth then, the passing

of lovelorn souls?

My love, behind the veils

of love’s proud proclamations,

did you see the signs

of imperious grandeur?

You, who revel

in mausoleums of dead kings,

did you not heed the dark hovels

that fostered us?

Beyond count are those, in this world

who have lived and loved.

Could anyone deny the truth

of their passions?

But they, like us, stay destitute,

without the means

to erect monuments to their love.

These edifices, these tombs,

these battlements, these forts,

haughty relics

of the conceit of emperors

are left behind like resilient creepers

on the face of the world,

seeped in the blood

of our forefathers.

My love, those artful hands

who created this beauty

would have lived

and loved too; but their lovers

are long gone, nameless,

without a trace.

To this day, no one has lit

a candle in their memory.

The lush gardens and palaces,

the Yamuna’s edge;

the exquisitely carved portals,

the arches and niches,

the handiwork of the one

emperor who, buttress’d

by infinite wealth

has mocked our very love,

our impoverish'd, destitute love.

Even so, my love,

let us meet

someplace else.

© 2012, translation and transliteration by Mustansir Dalvi, all rights reserved.