SRF's translation comes, with his permission, from Mir Taqi Mir: Selected Ghazals and Other Poems, translated by Shamsur Rahman Faruqi. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2019. Murty Classical Library of India; Sheldon Pollock, General Editor. Ghazal 37, pp. 105-107.

S. R. Faruqi:

(1) I died prostrate for her but the imprint of my being remained a burden
on her gate because the dust from my grave swirled around and became a source of vexation

(2) Having lost my heart in the season of madness, I grieve, but it's a pity:
I thought of it only when no clothing remained on my body, not a stitch.

[Nothing remained to bandage the wounded heart, because in madness he had already ripped away all his clothes.]

(3) She is human, but since her long hair came undone and spread like a net,
She has hunted no one but the angels on her street.

(4) Like sleep to my eyes, that restive beauty never appeared.
I looked forward to her coming all my life.

(5) Whoever should manage to get the wine of pleasure and luxury just one night
would continue to crave it till doomsday.

(6) Love for beautiful idols made it powerless, made it lose hold of itself,
the heart that once held authority over all God's kingdom.
(7) The heart that throbbed and hurt day and night like a ripening abscess,
that constantly wounded my liver--
(8) all my life was used up in being gentle with it, caressing it lovingly.
Yet it always was grieving, restless and inconsolable.
(9) How could one describe its end, that sufferer, that target of tyranny and pain?
A thousand longings--and it always suppressed them somewhere deep inside itself.
(10) When like an abscess it began to flow, it found its way to the eyes in the form of blood, and slowly leaked away.
As long as it strayed in my burning breast it endured, scars and all,
(11) but the thoughtless ones took itaway from me--and not a drop of blood remained for its memorial.

(12) He entered her lane and departed, just disappeared without speaking a word.
Many times I called out to him "Mir! Oh Mir!"--but no answer ever came.



(inspired by SRF's translation)

(1) I died in a prostration, but my imprint remained a burden.
On that doorsill, my dust was still a vexation.

(2) In madness, this time, I feel for my heart! But alas,
By the time I knew its wound, not a thread was left of my robe.

(3) She's human; but since she loosed the net of her curls,
She has hunted only angels on her street.

(4) That restive one never came to my eyes-- like sleep.
My whole life was spent awaiting her.

(5) The one who knew a single night of the wine of joy,
Was still hung over on Doomsday.

(6) Passion for idols made it powerless--
The heart that once had lordship over God's world.
(7) The heart that, night and day, was about to burst like a blister,
The heart that always kept wounding the liver,
(8) My whole life was spent pressing my hand to it,
Nevertheless, the poor thing remained restless.
(9) In suffering, in grief, was its end-- what could be done?
Over thousands of longings, it kept tormenting itself.
(10) When it turned to blood, it flowed out from the eyes.
While it remained in the burning breast, it was always full of wounds.
(11) Well, the way she absently, casually, took it from me--
As a memorial, not even a drop of blood remained.

(12) When he went into her street, that was it; he said nothing more.
I kept on calling out to him-- 'Mir! Mir!'.


Zahra Sabri:

Zahra Sabri is a special guest translator for this site.

(1) I died in prostration, but the imprint of my being remained a burden
On that threshold, the vexing dust of my ashes remained

(2) I feel pity for my heart in this particular fit of madness, but sadly
By the time I paid attention, not a single thread remained of my dress

(3) She is human, but ever since the net of her tresses became unfolded
It is angels who were hunted as she went on her way

(4) Just as sleep never arrived, that mischievous one never appeared before our eyes
We waited for her all our life

(5) The one who gained access to the wine of delight for just one night
Experienced the effects of intoxication till the Day of Resurrection

(6) The love of beautiful idols rendered weak and powerless
That heart which once exercised power over all of creation

(7) That heart which was like a ripe sore, morning and evening
That heart which always made the liver remain afflicted

(8) We spent all our life laying a gentle hand on it
In spite of this, it remained uncomforted and sad

(9) In oppression and grief, what could be done for it?
It had thousands of unfulfilled longings, yet it kept repressing them

(10) When it oozed, it became blood, exiting from the eyes
When it stayed in my burning chest, it remained scarred

(11) But thoughtlessly she took it away from me such that
Not even a drop of blood remained to remember it by

(12) Once he went into her street, he was gone. He never spoke again.
I kept on calling out his name: ‘Mir! Mir!’


Tahira Naqvi:

Tahira Naqvi is a guest translator for this site.

(1) I was in prostration but my imprint remained a burden
On that threshold my dust remained as a vexation

(2) This time in the throes of passion I feel a sorrow for my heart but alas
By the time I paid some heed to it, not a single strand remained in the garment

(3) She is human but since she unfurled the net of her curls
Only the angel on her path was the one that was ensnared

(4) I never saw the the beauteous one even in a dream
All my life I was waiting for her

(5) The one who was able to drink the wine of pleasure for a night
Remained intoxicated until the Day of Judgement

(6) The passion for idols made it lose all control
The heart, that had remained in control of Godliness

(7) The heart that was every morn and night like a ripe blister
The heart that caused the liver to be forever melancholy

(8) A lifetime passed with my hand placed over it
It remained sorrowful, despite everything, and restless

(9) In cruelty, in sorrow, what to say how it fared
There were a thousand desires that the heart had to relinquish

(10) It was blood that flowed even if it flowed from the eyes
What remained in the burning breast was scarred

(11) The unmindful ones took it away from me
So that there was not even a drop of blood for remembrance

(12) He went to her street, yes, he did, but did not speak
I kept calling out to him by saying ‘Mir,’Mir.’