BURN THEM, MY POEMS

In your leisure hour,

Close down your windows and doors,

Put some dry wood into the bonfire,

make yourself comfortable on an easy-chair,

Begin reading my poems one after another

Forget my face, treat me as an unknown writer,

Identify, who in my poem is the reigning empress.

Who is worshiped in all of them as a goddess.

Who is the Kohinoor in them shining so bright,

Who is the Nightingale singing throughout.

Whom as the Ganges of my life, I hugely respect,

What after all these, I from her expect. 

Do you identify the face of my beloved from the pages?

She is none but you, my much adored empress.

Read what happens to me after your departure,

How I float and sink day-night in the river of tears

How still I care your happiness and welfare,

How I go on worshiping you, praying before your door.

If after all these you still feel I am not a worthy lover,

Still you feel I do not deserve a place in your core.

Then throw away those papers in to the burning fire.

They will warm your fingers in this freezing winter,

In either way my poems will serve your purpose,

After all servitude is the soul and goal of true lovers.

जब दिल ही जल चुका है ,
            तो  जिस्म  सलामत रहने से क्या होगा,
जला  भी दो इस जिस्म  को तुम आज,
  कम से कम ठंड में  तुम्हे कुछ गर्माहट तो होगी  ।