Two Versions after Iqbal
Withered Rose
With what words shall I call you
desire of the nightingale’s heart?
In a Country of Roses
you were named Laughing Rose,
the morning breeze was your cradle,
a garden a tray of perfumes.
My tears rain like dew
and in my barren heart your ruin
is an emblem of mine.
A reed plucked from its native soil
I sing sweet songs of souls in exile.
My life is a dream of roses
Bright Rose
You cannot loosen the heart’s knot,
perhaps you have no heart,
no share in the turmoil
of this garden, where I yearn
but gather no roses.
Of what use to me is wisdom?
Once out of the garden,
you are at peace.
I am anxious,
scorched as I search.
Even *Jamshid’s empty cup
foretold the future: may wine
always satisfy my mouth
that open circle in the mirror.
***
* The mythical Persian king Jamshid saw the reflection of all events in a wine cup.