Aashiq Harjaai

The Roving Lover

What a strange collection of contradictions you are, Iqbal! You are the life of the gathering, and yet you are also alone.

From your clamor, O wild, melodious soul, You are the life of the garden, and the grace of the desert too.

Companion to the stars in your high flight, Yet you tread the earth, your steps also measuring the sky.

In the midst of worldly pleasure, your brow is bowed in prayer; Your path holds something of the creed of the wine-cup.

Like a flower’s scent, you are free from the garment of color; You are a creator of wisdom, yet you possess a touch of madness.

You flow toward your goal, trackless as a wave, And yet lie still, like the river’s shore.

Feminine beauty is lightning to your nature, Yet strangely, your love remains aloof.

The law of your being is built on constant change; Do you ever bow your head at a single threshold?

Among the beautiful, you are known as one who knows no loyalty; O mercurial one, you are famous and infamous alike.

You have brought into this world the nature of quicksilver; A marvel, this restlessness of yours; how strangely restless you are!