Monthly Archives: May 2015

The Summer Solstice – and Kite Flying!

the summer solstice
– and Kite Flying!


Foto by Ahlatlibel

HERE’S A QUIZ FOR YOU FOLKS! Just before the end of May, you probably spent quality time with the family at the beach, or in your own backyard with friends and kin presiding over a BBQ.

Select, then, either A or B of the following faux ancient couplets by yours truly and e-mail your response to me at no later than May the 31st.

  1. Which Day, forsooth, hath Summer begun? ‘Twas on Memorial Day, I trow!
  2. Doth Thou, who welcometh Summer in June, Bethink it starteth two-thirds o’ the Way through?

PS: There are no prizes offered here, but the first two respondents with the correct answer will be duly recognized in my blog.

For those not in the know, at this time of year kite flying – starting with the advent of Spring in April and often right through mid-July – is a passion in many parts of the world. For starters, there is the subcontinent (India, Pakistan, Nepal and Bangladesh) as well as Afghanistan. And then the countries in East Asia, notably Korea and Japan. Not to be outdone, children and adults in Australia and the USA are joining their ranks in increasing numbers.

As they all discover in due time, it’s not only fun to fly kites in wide open spaces and en plein air, but it’s also a highly competitive team and individual sport.

Of late, there has been a spate of literary interest in the subject due mainly, I think, to the Afghan writer, Khaled Hosseini, who has – among other gems – crafted a best-seller in “The Kite Runner.” It’s memorable ending runs with the breathless:

“I ran. A grown man running with a swarm of screaming children. But I didn’t care. I ran with  the wind blowing in my face, and a smile as wide as the Valley of Panjsher on my lips.

I ran.”

 Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Famous Family Fusion of Musical Masters

Quite a mouthful for a title to get off ones chest.

But here am I on May the 22nd musing about this and that when out of the blue I decide to celebrate in words, pictures and, yes, music one of the great collaborations between a giant of opera and stagecraft and an all-time genius of the keyboard and hoopla, both as a performer and prolific composer. Any guesses, dear reader?

I’ll interrupt to spare you the agony of waiting – so here goes! The giant was Richard Wagner, born this day in 1813 in Leipzig, Germany; the genius was Franz Liszt, born a couple of years earlier in Raiding, Hungary. I have marble busts of each gentleman that adorn the bookshelf in my Englewood den, and here they are: Wagner-Liszt B

Wagner, on the left, was the son-in-law of Liszt, on the right.

In 1859, Wagner wrote his mighty love drama, Tristan and Isolde, and while involved in his creative labors he fell in love with Cosima, the daughter of Liszt.  In 1865 a daughter was born to them and was named Isolde. When Ludwig II, king of Bavaria, became Wagner’s patron, a number of his music dramas were performed in Munich, including Tristan and Isolde in 1865 – 150 years ago!

These days, one of the excerpts most often performed at symphony concerts is the Prelude and Love-Death from – you guessed it! – Tristan and Isolde. Wagner’s unique compositional device that he exploited with amazing artistic effect was the Leitmotif, or leading motif – a specific theme, or melodic fragment, identifying a particular character, object, feeling and situation in his dramas.

There was a rift between our two protagonists in 1866, but without going into too many  familial details, suffice it to say that they were finally reconciled in 1872, thereby enabling Liszt to participate in the ceremonies attending the laying of the cornerstone of the Wagner festival theater in Bayreuth. (Below is the inner page copy of my “Wagner-Liszt Album” that includes Liszt’s transcriptions for the piano from Wagner’s operas.)


With all of the above background information, you’re better fortified to hear the performance by my late Russian friend and competitor, Lazar Berman, in this YouTube video of Isolde’s Love-Death (Liebestod) – the closing scene from Tristan and Isolde.

I’m sure you’ll enjoy the sheer sweep of Lazar’s Romantic interpretation of that moving work – in the music drama the Liebestod is sung by Isolde over the dead body of Tristan just before her own death.

Lazar Berman playing Liszt’s Tristan and Isolde

 Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Hear My Prayer

At this time of heightened tension in Eastern Europe and the Mideast, I felt it was time to hold ones breath collectively around the world and allow better senses to prevail and gain prominence in the minds of men and women of all faiths – if  not today, if not tomorrow, then certainly in the very near future.

Pope Francis will be traveling from the Vatican to visit the United States come September before heading to Cuba and elsewhere. The Holy Father has already made great strides around the world in striking the correct humane and pragmatic balance in his approach to the Israel-Palestine standoff, and has in addition been instrumental in gaining the rapprochement between us and the island just south of us. It’s taken many decades  to clear the air of distrust, but as always it requires someone with a certain charisma, a certain clarity of mind and a deep innate conviction in what is right to bring it off.

In that context, and as a lifelong musician, I decided to devote this posting to a Jewish-born composer, whose family turned to Christianity when he was quite young, and who transformed the Classical Music world with his enduring works that live on today everywhere – Felix Mendelssohn!


Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy
[b. February 3, 1809 in Hamburg-d. November 4, 1847 in Leipzig]

His grandfather, Moses, a distinguished philosopher, and his father, Abraham, a successful banker were both of the Jewish faith. But during Felix’s boyhood in Hamburg, he and his immediate family converted to Christianity. On that occasion, Abraham added the name Bartholdy to distinguish himself and his family from the other Mendelssohns who had remained true to their Jewish faith.

190 years ago, in 1825, the Mendelssohn family moved to Berlin, and a theater was built in the garden of its spacious quarters where Sunday morning musicales were held. At one of them, the 17-year old Felix introduced – in a two-piano version – his first masterwork, the Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The rest is history: Many memorable milestones in his short 38 years of life on this planet followed, including his revival of Bach’s music throughout the world; his visit to England where he – as a foreign musician – soon became as venerated as Handel and was elected Honorary Member of the Royal Philharmonic; and back in his homeland in 1835 he was appointed at the age of only 26 as principal conductor of the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig. That wasn’t all! In 1843 he helped found the Leipzig Conservatory with an outstanding faculty that included Robert Schumann and Ignaz Moscheles.

Amidst all that hectic activity, which ultimately sapped his physical and mental health, Felix wrote some of the most heartfelt melodic works encompassing many musical forms. For me, my favorite among many others has been Hear My Prayer that has two distinct parts – one exhortative, the other plangent. The words are all given below, and I sincerely hope they  suit my current purpose, especially those in italics, of getting the pithy and persuasive message across to the leaders of all nations in conflict – among themselves and with us in America. May the dove of peace prevail!

“Hear my prayer, O God, incline Thine ear!
Thyself from my petition do not hide.
Take heed to me! Hear how in prayer I mourn to Thee,
Without Thee all is dark, I have no guide,
The enemy shouteth, the godless come fast!
Iniquity, hatred, upon me they cast!
The wicked oppress me, Ah where shall I fly?
Perplex’d and bewilder’d, O God, hear my cry!
My heart is sorely pained, within my breast,
my soul with deathly terror is oppress’d,
trembling and fearfulness upon me fall,
with horror overwhelmed, Lord, hear me call,


O for the wings, for the wings of a dove!
Far away, far away would I rove!
In the wilderness build me a nest,
and remain there forever at rest.”

35 years ago, my wife Lolita and I were in England and listened raptly to the Choir of New College in Oxford, England. Its singing of Mendelssohn’s Hear My Prayer left an indelible impression on us—both musicians. You may follow the score of the composer’s work along with the inspired singing by clicking the YouTube hotlink below. The clip is in two parts, so if you want to listen to the portion in italics, O for the wings, you’ll need to select it separately when the first part – ‘Hear my prayer’ – comes to an end.

Hear My Prayer

Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Esoterica: I Second-Sight II Scientific Hand Reading

Dear Reader: Let me start from the beginning, a very proper place to begin by most counts – especially when dealing with esoterica!

I Second-Sight
From the early age of 13, I was enamored by the supernatural along with my love of music – and fortunetelling! In a way they all intermingled in my lively mind and imagination. A strong impetus was provided by my maternal grandmother, who was gifted with ‘second-sight’ or the uncanny ability of ‘knowing’ an event – sometimes earth-shattering – was taking place as it was actually happening although being miles away geographically.

She once recounted to my mother that, while living abroad, it was one evening when her husband was due to be returning home from an all-day meeting outside town. Unfortunately, the weather outside had taken a turn for the worse. Suddenly, the area was hit by an unusually violent storm – thunder crashing, flashes of lightning and torrential rain – amidst which she cried out to her house guest, her sister who was visiting from England:
Zia’s met with a serious accident!

She could picture the whole scene – even the exact place! The car had skidded on a steep hill and half-turned over into a large gully full of rushing rainwater. He was unable to open the door to get out and was completely locked in. The doctor who treated him after the accident – prompted by my grandmother’s frantic call to the local police and subsequent  heroic efforts on the part of the rescue team – said that had Zia been left in that condition much longer it would have cost him his life.

In short, if it had not been for naniji’s uncanny gift of second-sight, my grandfather, nanaji, would not have lived to the grand old age of 90 back in his home country of India!
II Scientific Hand Reading
Not so esoteric perhaps, but equally fascinating, is the ability to foretell the future.

There are many ways of so doing, but mine, off and on, over the years has been scientific hand reading – not palmistry, which has rather an unsavory history, but something more akin to provable laws and mores. Abroad, Cheiro’s methods have proved very profitable to him and his peers, and I must admit I was a staunch advocate of his writings for quite some time in my younger days. They do have a lot of worthwhile material to digest, but later on I devoted more and more time to Benham’s “The Laws of Scientific Hand Reading” where I found myself increasingly in tune with his methods and practices.


My 1951 edition of Benham’s book has my transcription: Calcutta, 14th June ’54

In spite of those well-known precepts of the arcane art promulgated by the above published authors of repute, may I say that there is another element in the mix that I have not found in their writings. And that is the ‘tactile’ – the hand-to-hand component, when one takes the hand of the apprehensive visitor or client in ones own: for me there’s an immediate indescribable ‘osmotic’ transmission that adds a certain something to the actual ‘visual’ input of what the lines on his or her palm are telling you.

It is still, after all these years, difficult for me to put into words something that makes no sense to the uninitiated. Perhaps, what I can do to make things more clear is to devote the next few lines of this blog to a chance meeting I had with the daughter of an ambassador at a diplomatic cocktail party.

She had learnt of my unusual ‘propensity’ from one of the guests at  the party, and steered herself toward me. She told me that within a couple of days she was due to fly back home after her invigorating Spring break to resume her studies and went on to ask me lightheartedly if I’d tell her fortune.

I demurred for a moment. Then, against my better judgment, I said that if she were serious, I’d be happy to take her aside for a private session into an adjoining room that was less noisy and more appropriate for the task at hand. A few minutes later, away from the madding crowd of revelers, I took her right hand in mine, scanned it – then her left! My heart beat faster then sank, and I withdrew with a palpably false smile to say that her future looked bright as she returned to pursue her college career.

A fortnight later at a special event, I happened to bump into her diplomat father, who was wearing a black band on the left arm of his white sharkskin jacket. He told me that the light of his life, his daughter, had just died soon after returning to college. In a sense, I felt ashamed that I hadn’t divulged that when I took her hands in mine that fateful day I had felt a shiver up and down my spine, and I knew instinctively that her days were numbered due to a heart condition. Should I have  told her the brutal truth, as I felt at the time? Was I justified in remaining silent – even to her father?

For many years thereafter I gave up practicing “my gift” and, indeed, it was only when I happened to be in Hungary for an international music competition that I let myself go and at his insistent pleading read the palms of the late Russian pianist, Lazar Berman. I told him he would be famous throughout the world: indeed, he did succeed in achieving that distinction, despite being only the Third Prize Winner behind another Russian and a Hungarian competitor, both of whom have long since been forgotten in the dog-eat-dog concert world of sought-after soloists!

For the record, that was the last time I’ve told anyone’s “fortune.”

PS: I’ve written about the encounter with Lazar Berman in an earlier blog at

Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Tea for Two? How about Two Leaves and a Bud First!

Two Leaves and a Bud

The Beginning of a Long Journey


Tea Plantation

  Vistas of Indian Tea GardensTea_plantation_in_Sonitpur_district_of_Assam,_India

Back in September 28, 1953 – just over 60 years ago – India’s Ambassador to the United States, Sri G. L. Mehta, hazarded a guess at the meeting of the Tea Association of the USA that there would be a significant growth in tea-drinking here. Not to be outdone, the Association’s President Samuel Winokur stated that Americans already drank more than 2,500,000,000 more cups of tea compared to 3 years earlier (1950) – so do the math for the next half century and you’d be left in disbelief!

Unfortunately, the prognostications didn’t pan out over the years in between, if Winokur’s figure were to be extrapolated. But we tea-lovers today don’t need to despair, as we do see all around a greater sophistication among the American public taste-wise in their choice of beverage, either in the morning or during the day.

Well, it’s true that if one talks about tea as a generic term, then there are all those rose-tinted possibilities. However, I am a firm believer in black tea of the leaf variety – not those indeterminate crushed leaves entombed in what are termed in the US market as “tea bags.” The whole ‘ceremony’ associated with the brewing of the leaf tea for a prescribed number of minutes – is it 3 or 5 to arrive at the ideal flavor? – is an art unto itself. Who knows, but it will be your own palate and sensory organs that will determine what’s right for you as you face the day ahead of you – revived and emboldened to confront whatever challenges await you!

Addendum via the New York Times of May 6, 2015:
A week ago the New York Times listed my comment on an article that appeared in its May 6, 2015 edition: here’s what I wrote right off the cuff –
“The article today by Susan Chira had little to say about black tea …….
Born and bred in Northern India, I was amazed when my family and I moved to the States that there was no tea worth the name available here. Without the Internet in those days it took me some time to discover likely sources of leaf tea from Assam and Darjeeling – the latter being the family favorite.

Having spent some time in Assam as the young manager of the largest tea-chest manufacturer whose products were bound for the West – mainly to England and eventually the USA – I was proud of the quality teas that we selected for export via Calcutta, home of India’s major tea-brokers and tea-tasters. Compared to 40 years ago when we arrived here in the US, I find it gratifying to witness the exponential growth in the number of tea drinkers in New York and elsewhere who have developed a discerning taste for the invigorating brew – particularly as a picker-upper first thing in the morning!”

 Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Dance as Diplomacy

Hanover Messe



An unusual, but outstanding, international event took place in Germany a month ago on April 12, 2015 that was somehow missed by the press here in the USA. It was all about – not overtly but implicitly – Dance of India that was presented in all its manifold ancient, artistic and colorful forms with an unusual setting: The Hanover Messe! That’s right – it was a mix of high art and hifalutin’ industry!! Click on the red banner above to see for yourself the YouTube sensation of the year!!!

Led by India’s forceful no-nonsense Prime Minister Narendra Modi, his country’s  large delegation was presented on a huge stage lit up in Broadway – not Bollywood! – style with the unusual present – not past! – tense banner reading: MAKE IN INDIA. And, make no mistake, that was at the world’s paramount industrial fair.

The mega performance by the visiting troupe unfolded a remarkably well-choreographed panorama of India’s ancient and modern dance forms before a rapt audience of the German government’s  movers and shakers including the indomitable Chancellor Angela Merkel sitting amidst her cabinet members and her country’s titans of industry.

It was surprisingly – for me at least – a joy to watch, because of the variety, artistic integrity and professionalism of the infinite number of classical and regional dances – all of it  captured in a flowing and fascinating YouTube clip  (see Hanover Messe at top in case you haven’t already) for all the world to see.

The video is in three separate segments, but I would urge you to leave it after you’ve savored the very first segment, which is all about dance, and not the other two that are all about politics and/or the close and age-old bond between Germany and India in many spheres of interaction. That’s of course if you have the time and patience to sit throughout all the nine yards.  Don’t get me wrong! The entire YouTube presentation is an extremely well-choreographed Indian cultural presentation at the world’s largest industrial fair with top government leaders and CEOs from Germany and India.

It would be fun for you to figure out what state in India each dance performance represents. The comment section below this blog is available for any educated guesses to be sent to me, so do go ahead and make use of it in case you have the urge to participate, or try your luck.

Just as a quick overview and in no particular order here are the dance presentations:

Kathak is the classical dance of North India.
Kathakali is performed in almost every part of the Deccan in the South, but mostly in the state of Kerala.
Manipuri is a folk-art in that state and is vitally alive, both as an amusement and as a religious ceremony.
Odissi is a highly inspired, passionate, ecstatic and sensuous form of dance in the state of Orissa. Like most of the South Indian classical dances of India, Odissi too had its origin in the tradition of a Devadasi  – or a girl “dedicated” to worship and service of a deity or a temple for the rest of her life.
Bharatanatyam of the South that possesses a more ancient origin than all the others above, occupies not surprisingly the highest recognition and is probably the best known of Indian dance forms performed outside India in, for example, New York City and cities in California. All the classical dance forms use basically the same ‘mudras’ or signs of the hand as a common language of expression and were originally performed in the temples to entertain various Gods and Goddesses. uday shankar [Shown above is the famous dancer Uday Shankar (1900-1977) in a familiar pose.

Uday Shankar2
I had the pleasure of meeting him (above is another photo of  him that I rather like) at the New Delhi home of his youngest brother,
Ravi Shankar (1920-2012), the world-renowned sitarist, who was fond of holding soirees in the garden of his bungalow in the mid-1950’s.]

Other than Manipuri, there are other folk dances particular to the states of Bengal, Assam, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar and Uttar Pradesh that I have not touched upon. Never mind, I’m sure if you are at all impressed with the variety of pulsating dance forms available in South Asia for your entertainment, you will be tempted to go on the Internet and forage for yourself to witness many examples of nirvana in the here and now.

PS: For the uninitiated, the Hindi “Bhai-Bhai” in the heading of this blog means “Brother-Brother” – or colloquially on the streets of these United States as “Bro-Bro!”

 Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Let Go

Akbar Hussain Rizvi
popularly known as Akbar Allahabadi (Urdu: اكبر الہ آبادی )
(October 1846 – February 1921)

Akbar was a religious mystic: His was a medieval daemon, who distrusted worldly things, and believed that man should strive for spiritual union with God. And in criticizing materialism he stood out amongst his contemporaries as a noble and heroic figure.

I give below one of his poems (or ruba’i) which I have transcreated from Urdu into English, with the former in its Roman version following the latter:

Let go the selfish lust of this mean world:
And should you be a gatherer of flowers,
Let go the sweepings, then, of thorn and weed.

Without the Lord and Master of the house
The hearth and home are void of life and color:
Let God alone reside within your soul.

Dunyaa-i duni ki yeh havas jaane do
Gulcin ho agar tuu xaat-o-xas jaane do.

Maalik ke bighair ghar ki raunaq nahin kuch:
A—- ko apne dil men bas jaane do.

دُنیاِ دُنی کی یه هوس جانے دو
گُلچِن هو اگار توُ خآت وخَس جآنےدو

مآلِک کے بِغَیر گهَر کی روَنق نَهیں کُچه:
ا…. کو اپنے دِل میں بَس جآنے دو

The opening alliteration in the first hemistich underscores the poet’s revulsion in near-Miltonic terms: thus, the metapoeia “Let go the selfish lust of this mean world” recalls the resounding “Capricious, wanton, bold, and brutal lust is meanly selfish.” As to stanzaic form I opine that the spirit incarnate of the Middle Ages born anachronously in modern times must make do with tercets – and unrhymed at that!

Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Requiem for a Lost Chain

not a gold chain, but an electronics retail chain,
which I long cherished in my younger days, here and abroad.
What urged me to blog here was the headline news that I read just today:

The Sad, Tarnished Afterlife of RadioShack’s Name  

Yes, from the time I was a teenager, I was a tinkerer: Then, I proudly made my own crystal radio that miraculously picked up waves off the ether and delivered live orchestral music to my headset (Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty Suite for Orchestra was the very first piece of music I heard ‘wirelessly’ that I recall to this day decades later.)

Later I toyed with chemistry in my home lab: on one occasion, I placed certain innocuous looking white ‘crystals’ in a jar over a Bunsen burner in a backroom of the family apartment, and much to my parents’ alarm it blew up leaving an unsightly black blob on the ceiling – ah! those were the days to be a tinkerer with the whole world opening up before you at your feet – or overhead! – limited only by the extent of your lively imagination and a few simple tools.

Things have changed mightily since those halcyon days: Before all you had to do was to run down to your local equivalent of RadioShack, rummage around and return triumphantly to your lair with the tools to ply your trade – the art of creation; now, with the advent of the Internet, all you may need to do is to fire up your computer or laptop or tablet and shop online without ever thinking of seeing a live human being or two with whom you may swap ideas and suggestions for upgrading your equipment as cheaply as possible, or picking up the latest electronic buzz.

My crowning achievement was in the late 1990’s when I made a serviceable computer for a non-profit in New Jersey – that I was serving as its Membership Director – for the princely sum of $350, when the going rate for the cheapest IBM of similar capacity was $3,000.


For those not in the know, my iPad snapshot above is of a RadioShack AM/FM Radio circa 2000 . It’s been my trusted companion here and abroad for many moons and untold thousands of miles. Just consider: Whether it’s my daily NPR ‘fix’ during my morning walk, when I pick up  the local FM or BBC news in Englewood, NJ; or in Boston, MA on a visit to family, where WGBH picks up for me what I want to hear during my morning shave; or in London, UK, when visiting friends periodically; or in Lucknow, UP, during my biennial visit to my close relatives, where All India Radio (AIR) has all-day AM broadcasts that include regular news bulletins in English and Hindi with fairly substantial segments on foreign affairs; you name it, and I have those news – and on occasion classical Western or Indian music – segments all covered in the palm of my hand. Remember that’s long before the disruptive arrival of Mac-ware and suchlike innovations in our lives!

Of course, I do use the newbies, off and on, but what amuses me are the stares I get when I saunter along the streets in Englewood and elsewhere clutching my ancient (by mod standards) RadioShack AM/FM – my fistful of magical sound! – without caring a fig of what people think I’m doing.

 Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Worksheets of Mine on Zafar’s Epitaph

 Modus Operandi of Transcreating a Ghazal Poem
– from Urdu to English –
(Double click on the images below to get the whole picture)
Verses I and II
zafarworksheetAVerses III & IV
Verse V

In the very first verse lay a clue – to me at least – what the last line should read and which could, in part, lend a title to the entire poem. The Persian word musht used by Zafar is a ‘fist’ or ‘handful’. Used with the Arabic word ghabaar for ‘dust’ one might have plumbed for the simplistic phrase ‘handful of dust’ to close the line, but since the phrase in Urdu is preceded by mein vo ek or ‘I am that one’ the feeling of solitude that it evokes in my mind – and most likely in Zafar’s – I decided to transcreate that memorable line as a ‘solitary pinch of dust’ with ‘pinch of dust’ finding echoes in the endings of the other four verses.
For the complete text you will need to go to my blog on Zafar’s Epitaph at Pinch of Dust .

Historical Document

Zafar also left behind (see above) an historical document entitled “Autograph of His Majesty Bahadur Shah of Delhie – 29th April 1844.” It has a forlorn tone to it as you can’t help but note that he, as the last of his illustrious line, was no longer Mughal Emperor of India. No, he was just a debilitated royal confined to his capital city of Delhi as a virtual captive with no power or authority over the rest of his vast land, until he was exiled to Rangoon in Burma by the Raj.

At least he left us his incomparable poetry that has outlived him to this very day.

Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas

Pinch of Dust

Last Mughal Emperor of India
Eminent Poet in the Ghazal Tradition
who wrote “I am that solitary pinch of dust” 

Last Mughal Emperor of India


Neither the light of anyone’s eye,
Nor the ease in anyone’s breast;
That which is useless to anyone, aye!
I am that solitary pinch of dust.

نه کِسی کی آنکه نُر هُوں
نه کیسی کے دِل کا قَرار  هُوں
جو کِسی  کے کام نرآسَکے
میَں وه ایک مُشت غبار  هُوں

My mood and mien have been destroyed;
My love has gone and me abandoned.
The garden has been laid waste;
I am indeed its springtime harvest.

مِرا رَنگ  ِروُپ بِگڑ گِیا
مِرا یار مُجه سے سِچهڑ گِیا
جو چَمَن خِذان سے آجڑ گِیا
میَں اُسی کی فَصل بَهار هُوں


Why should you come at my grave to pray ?
Why should you come  with wreaths to lay?
Why should you come with a candle to light?
I am that shrine of Paradise Lost.

پئ فاتِحَه کوئ آے کیوُں
کوئ چار پهوُل چَڑهاے
کوئ آکے شَمَحِ جَلاے کیوُں
مَیں وه بَیسی کا مَزار هُوں

I sing no song the soul to quicken.
Why to me should anyone hearken?
I am the cry of a great abyss,
I am the call of a bitter angst.

مَیں نَهیِں هُوں نَغمَه جانفِزا
مُجهے سُن کے کویُ کَرے گا کِیا
مَیں بَڑے بِروگ کی هُوں صَدا
مَیں بَڑے دُکهی کی پُکار هُوں

Neither anyone’s lover is Zafar,
Nor anyone’s rival is Zafar ;
That which has been doomed is my Fate –
I am that land left sere and desolate.

نَه ظَفَر کِسی کا حبَیِب هُوں
نَه ظَفَر کِسی کا رقیِب هُوں
جو بِگڑ گِیا وَه نَصِیب هُوں
جو اَجڑ گِیا وَه دِیار هُوں


Copyright © 2015 Azim Lewis Mayadas