The Red Rose
(Gul-e-Rangeen)
Thou art not aware of the injuries caused by perplexities,
O the red rose! Thou perhaps dosn’t have heart in thy side,
Thou adorneth the world but dosn’t participate in the
tumult,
This leisure is not available to me in the world of
existence,
In this garden I aspire burning for performance,
And thy life is devoid of pleasure of aspiration,
To pluck thee from the twig is not my discipline,
My view is admiration of thy natural beauty,
Alas! O the red rose this hand is not oppressive,
How can I explain to thee that I am not a flower-gatherer,
I have nothing to do with the logical complications,
I look at thee with the eye of a lover,
Thou hast hundreds of tongues still thou remaineth silent,
What is that secret hidden in thy chest?
Like me thou too art a flower of the sacred garden,
I am away from paradise, thou too art away from garden,
Thou art satisfied, I remain dispersed like fragrance,
I have unsatisfying taste for quest,
This dispersion of mine facilitates organisation?
May not this suffering lead to increased human knowledge!
May not my infermity itself be cause of strength!
May not my astonishing intelligence be an envy for Jamsheed’s
gobblet!
This continued quest increases the enlightenment,
Steed of the human intelligence keep the humanity in
movement.
(Suggestions invited for betterment)
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