Ghalib ghazal
Many, many thanks to Justin Turkus for his beautiful work on my arm—we had a great time and it looks rad.
It reads, in a more flowery and dramatic translation of which there are many “These are the binding threads of the scattered sheaves of the world.”
The full poem was translated by a friend as,
“Let the ascetics sing of the garden of Paradise —
We who dwell in the true ecstasy can forget their vase-tamed bouquet.
In our hall of mirrors, the map of the one Face appears
As the sun’s splendor would spangle a world made of dew.
Hidden in this image is also its end,
As peasants’ lives harbor revolt and unthreshed corn sparks with fire.
Hidden in my silence are a thousand abandoned longings:
My words the darkened oil lamp on a stranger’s unspeaking grave.
Ghalib, the road of change is before you always:
The only line stitching this world’s scattered parts.”
