The Interrogation Of The Dead
The bright sun is hidden, the night shows its face
The night’s hair is spread on shoulders of the earth
This black dress is preparation for some one’s mourning
Perhaps the Nature’s assemblage for the sun is mourning
The sky is casting a spell over the talking lip
The night’s magician is watching the awakened eye
The wind current is submerged in the river of silence
However, the tolling bell’s sound comes from the distance
Heart which in love’s turmoil is evading the world
Has dragged me here far from the maddening crowd
I am the spectator of the spectacle of disappointments
I am the associate of those sleeping in solitude’s corner
O My restlessness! Wait and let me rest awhile
And let me shed a few tears at this habitation
Is Man engulfed by sorrow in that land also?
Is Man’s heart suppressed and helpless in that land also?
Are the thunder, the farmer, the harvest there also?
Are the caravan and the robber’s fear there also?
Does garden not cry at the nightingale’s wail there also?
Like this world is there no sympathy in that world also?
Does the Paradise a garden or a restful mansion constitute?
Or does the Eternal Beauty’s Unveiled Face it constitute?
Does hell a method of burning away sins constitute?
Or it in flames of fire a way of discipline constitute?
Ah! Is that land also filled with darkness?
Or with Love’s light is completely illuminated?
Tell us what the secret under this rotating dome is
Death a pricking sharp thorn in the human breast is