kyaa kahye myaa;N ab kii junuu;N me;N siinah apnaa yak-sar daa;G
haath gulo;N se gul-daste hai;N sham((a nama:t hai sar par daa;G

1) what can I say, my friend?! --in the madness this time now, my breast is entirely a wound
2) my hands, by means of 'roses', are small-bouquets; like a candle, on my head is a wound



S. R. Faruqi:

There's nothing special in the opening-verse, but in the second part of the first line, through the omission of the verb, power has been created in the poetry. That is, in saying apnaa siinah yak-sar daa;G hai there's not the same effect as there is in apnaa siinah yak-sar daa;G . For example, this expression is better: mai;N apnaa ;haal kyaa kahuu;N , siinah figaar , garebaa;N taar taar , as compared with this one: mai;N apnaa ;haal kyaa kahuu;N , siinah figaar hai , garebaa;N taar taar hai . Mir and Ghalib both had a special skill in the omission of verbs. In my view, this special feature is shared by Persian and Prakrit.

In the second line, for there to be a wound on the head, like a candle, calls to mind the sarv-e chiraa;Gaa;N ; it's mentioned in the following verse,


as well. Because of [self-inflicted] wounds, for the hands to be given the simile of small bouquets-- on this see




There's also the body-parts imagery-- the breast, two 'head' references, two 'hand' references. But Mir does this kind of thing so often that it almost becomes invisible. (He has no monopoly on it, of course.)

And all these physical stigmata are reported not for their own sake, but because the speaker's current state of madness is inexpressible ('What can I say?!'). The physical signs are the outward tokens of a radical inner disintegration-- and/or a reintegration, in pursuit of an ideal passion that looks 'mad' only to the worldly.