Asrar-ul-Haq Majaz

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I should break my plighted troth, this is what I feel,
That I can possess my love, I shouldn't believe,
I should snap the thread of hope woven out of flimsy breeze,
What to do, O aching heart, what to do, O frenzy wild?

From behind the palace there, the yellow moon doth rise,
Like the turban of the priest, the ledger of the trader wise,
Like the poverty-stricken youth, like the window's prime of life;
What to do, O aching heart, what to do, O frenzy wild?

A flame is kindled in my heart, what am I to do?
Brimful is my cup, O lord, what am I to do?
The wound of heart has come to bloom, what am I to do?
What to do, O aching heart, what to do, O frenzy wild?

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Man has been supplicating saints and sages wise,
Human misery, all the same, has all recipes defied.

Human brow has always bent at this or that threshold,
Humanity has always suffered inequities untold.

There has been no dearth of leaders, or of prophets wise,
Greed for gold has plied its trade wearing religious guise.

Feeling hearts have tried to leaven knowledgy with the light of love,
The clouds of darkness, nevertheless, have always hung over this earth,

Such struggle, such suffering, such heinous carnage!
How long has man been to superstition a slave!

Human mind has at last awakened from its heavy sleep,
In the stormy night of life, in the superstitious deep,

Has at least dreamt a dream of the golden dawn,
Looked at least towards the East, where none before had glanced.