S. R. Faruqi:

(1) Heartsick I passed through a garden yesterday.
The roses were about to say, "So, how are you?" but I didn't even look at them.

(2) The morning breeze woke you from slumber.
You're angry at me, but did I do it?

(3) I walked straight into the edge of your sword.
So what could I do? I used my battered heart as shield.

(4) Short sword in hand and eyes blood red from drink:
you mischief maker, you cut such an elegantly forbidding figure that I avoided facing you.

(5) The dirt of the road trampled under foot day and night can't compare with my state.
What more can I say, except that that was how I lived my life?

(6) My sharp fingernails made short work of both my heart and liver.
It was indeed artistic, the way I nightly scratched at my breast.

(7) Only such as I can put those lips to work the way I did.
I made my home in her eyes in no more than a twinkling or two of the eye.

(8) It was like someone departing the world with unfulfilled longings in tow.
That was how I left the street of the person who stole my heart.

(9) Well, yesterday I somehow managed to resist the cruel one who thirsted for my blood.
If you're a fair judge you'll see it was no mean feat of valor.

(10) Very often, ah Mir, I remember and sing her praises: "What long hair! What a face!"
In fact, I've now made it my custom to repeat those words, night and day, like a pious man telling his beads.

 

FWP:

(inspired by SRF's translation)

(1) Yesterday, heartsick, I passed through the garden.
The roses began to greet me, but I turned my face away.

(2) It woke you from sleep as it passed by, the dawn breeze.
You're so ill-tempered toward me-- but did I do it?

(3) I walked right into the edge of your sword.
What could I do? -- I used my battered heart as a shield.

(4) Dagger in hand, drunken eyes bloodshot--
Seeing your style, you mischievous wretch, I sheered off.

(5) Even the dust underfoot won't be like me.
What can I say? This is how I spent my life.

(6) My sharp-headed fingernails consumed both heart and liver.
Clawing my breast last night, I used craftsmanship.

(7) Let him take his desire from those lips, whoever might be like me--
with a steady gaze, I 'made a home' in those eyes.

(8) The way one full of vain longing leaves the world--
ah, that's just how I left the heart-stealer's street.

(9) Yesterday, somehow, I held off that bloodthirsty tyrant!
To be fair, I showed no small amount of guts.

(10) Here, I practice praise for those curls, that face.
I've made this my habit-- at evening, at dawn.

 

Zahra Sabri:

Zahra Sabri is a special guest translator for this site.

(1) Yesterday, with a troubled heart, I passed through the garden
The roses started saying, “Say…”, but I didn’t turn their way

(2) It is the morning breeze which woke you from slumber
So why are you out of temper with me – as if I’m the one who did it!

(3) Inexorably, I walked straight into the tip of your sword
What to do? I made a shield of this tormented heart

(4) Blade in hand, eyes like blood with drunkenness
Seeing you thus resplendent, oh playful one, we became alert and fearful

(5) Even the dust under your feet could not have rivalled me
What to say? This is the manner in which I spent my life

(6) My sharp-edged fingernail finished off my heart and liver both
Last night, I achieved mastery in the skill of bosom laceration

(7) To draw benefit from those lips, one needs to be like me
Gazing long into her eyes, I made my dwelling there

(8) In the way that one departs the world, with yearnings unfulfilled
This, alas, is how I travelled from the lane of my beloved

(9) Yesterday, I showed an instance of endurance before the bloodthirsty tormentor
If judged fairly, I showed no small degree of valour

(10) Here, praises are sung often for that face and those tresses, “Mir”
I made this my litany, morning and evening