diivaaro;N se sar maarte phirne kaa gayaa vaqt
ab tuu hii magar aap kabhuu dar se dar aave

1) the time of wandering around striking the head against walls has gone
2) but/perhaps now only/emphatically you yourself might/would sometime come in through the door



dar aanaa : 'To come in, to enter; to penetrate; to arrive; to enter ... ; to be successful, to succeed '. (Platts p.508)

S. R. Faruqi:

This verse's ambiguity, light kind of bitterness, and style of attack upon fate, are all praiseworthy. We have already seen in the discussion of this same ghazal a verse about striking the head on walls: {1564,3}, cited in {508,3}.

To strike the head on walls-- that is, because of the intensity of madness and the excess of agitation, to wander around striking the head on walls. The speaker says that now is not the time for that. This can mean that: (1) Striking and striking his head, the speaker has now come to be in truly bad shape. (2) Or, he has become vexed/bored with this action, so that the former abundance of ardor no longer remains. (3) Or, he has learned that this action is in vain; nothing is gained by it. (4) Or again, he considers that he has done justice to the claim of love, he's struck his head many times; now nothing more is necessary.

Up to this point it was nevertheless all right; for if themes of this kind are not common, neither are they entirely nonexistent-- that the lover, beating his head again and again, would bring himself into a bad state and then would think that it was enough, he could do no more. But in the second line he's said something extraordinary and strange: -- that now you might suddenly come voluntarily, of your own will, to our door; and then if you come inside, you come inside. We now not only have lost all hope in you, but have also already tried in every possible way to call you.

Then gayaa vaqt too is meaningful, because one way to interpret it is that there's a stage of striking and breaking the head; we have already passed through this stage; now the time is different. For example, now it's the time for endurance/patience, or the time for acceptance and sitting in silence, or the time to renounce our longing. That final possibility is very interesting-- that on the one hand is the stage of renunciation of longing, and on the other hand the hope, or expectation, or longing, or yearning, or illumining the heart with the possibility, that the beloved will of herself come to us.

In both lines, the the opposition between the two situations, and the bifurcated mental mood they represent, is very fine. Among diivaaro;N , dar , dar aave the 'commonality' [muraa((at ul-na:ziir] is superb. In the second line, the grammar and usage are fine, and they add to the trimness of the line.



The contrast between the 'walls' in the first line and the 'door' in the second line is astonishingly vivid. Walls don't admit people; one of the reasons to bang your head against walls is that the walls keep you out. After the speaker has, over and over, banged his head on the walls in vain-- well, after that, what? Will his long and painful self-mortification, like an enchantment, magically bring the beloved to his own door? Or is he nourishing a faint hope, or a possibility, or an impossibility, or just a burst of sarcasm and despair?

There's also the excellent use of magar , meaning both 'but' and 'perhaps', to make sure all the possibilities stay open. It really is a beautifully dreamy, foggy verse about hope and despair and the badlands in between.