Namood-e-Subah

The Manifestation of Dawn

From the horizon's hem, revealed to light, Is Dawn, the virgin child of Day and Night.

The sky, its harvest of the stars now past, The sun, a mirror-smith, its light has cast.

The sky, which heard the sun's approaching call, Set Night's flight-litter on the dusty pall.

The sun's bright flame, it seems, is the true prize Of starry sparks sown by the farmer of the skies.

The morning star departs, as from a sacred rite, The final worshipper who prayed throughout the night.

What is this scene? As if, from its dark sheath of night, One slowly draws a blade of polished, gleaming light.

The theme of morning in the sun's first ray is sealed, Like pleasant wine within a flask, as yet unrevealed.

And in the hem of morning's mingling wind, you'll find The Azaan's call and temple bell's loud sound combined.

The songbirds wake to hear the cuckoo's call to sing, And melody pours from the lyre of morning's every string.