Poem - Ghayabana Muhabbat


Whenever I passed by that house,

I would hear someone reciting my couplets

From behind the curtained window.

I thought it might be an admirer;

That’s not unheard of for a poet.

When after some time I mentioned this to my friends,

They went to listen, but one by one,

All came back disappointed.

They teased, “Your conceit is such that next

You’ll hear birds and wild animals humming your poetry!”

I ignored their mockery, and as usual, passed by that house.

Today, though, no curtain hung at the window,

And no voice could be heard.

With a hesitant heart, I knocked at the door.

An old woman, her face careworn, opened it, and said,

“My daughter used to pine for you day and night;

She would neither eat nor sleep, always hoping that you would come.

Now you have come, but it’s too late. She is dead.”

I returned home with heavy steps and a heavy heart.