Subah Ka Sitara

The joy of sun and moon, I would forsake, This herald's duty for the morning's sake.

For me, this starry realm holds no delight, Far better is earth's lowliness than this great height.

This sky is but the void's abyss, my home, The dawn's rent shroud, my final, daily tomb.

My fate is but to daily die and live, And take the morning-draught that Death's hands give.

This service, honor, this exalted state, Are worth far less than a dark, silent fate.

Had I the power, I'd not be a star, But be a pearl that gleams in depths afar.

And if the waves' contention brought me dread, I'd leave the sea, to grace a throat instead.

What joy to gleam, a jewel of beauty's own, And grace the crown on Caesar's queenly throne.

A piece of stone, when its great fate was cast, On Solomon's great ring was fixed at last.

But such fine things are destined here to break, The rarest gems this final path must take.

True life is that which knows not Death's decree; What life is this, where Death demands its fee?

If this my end, the world's adornment made, Why not as dew upon a flower be laid?

To live as spangles on a forehead bright, Or in the sparks of a wronged soul's sad plight?

To be a tear upon a lash held fast, Why not from that wife's eye be downward cast?

Whose husband, clad in armor for the fight, Goes to the field of strife for homeland's right.

A spectacle of hope and deep despair, Whose silence shames all speech beyond compare.

Whose husband's will gives her the strength to bear, While modesty lends speech to her soft stare.

At parting's hour, her rosy cheek turns white, Her beauty's pull made stronger by her plight.

Though she may struggle, holding back her pain, From her eye's cup I'd spill, a drop of rain.

And in the dust, eternal life I'd find, And show the fire of love to all mankind.