"For years have I held converse with someone in my thoughts, For long has a pictured visage lodged within my heart. I had held it all through as dear as life, My desire will weep for me for years in the burial yard. I too once drank the draughts from the fount of life, I too slept for long in peace, sheltered by the flask. For long did I stroll about in gardens and groves, For long could I smell my rose in the roses of the park. Such a sensitive being am I, it will cause my death, For years shall that shrew regret having hurt my heart. Even if reduced to ashes, like the wind-borne dust, For years I'll eddy around questing someone lost."
Quote Details
Added by wikiquote-import-bot
Unverified quote
0 likes
Original Language: English
Available Languages (1)
Sources
Urdu Ghazals: An Anthology from 16th to 20th century, p. 113
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Khwaja_Haidar_Ali_Aatish
Revision History
No revisions have been submitted for this quote.
Categories
Khwaja Haidar Ali Aatish
Khwaja Haidar Ali Aatish (Urdu: خواجہ حَیدر علی آتِش ), (1764— 13 January 1847) of Lucknow was an Urdu poet.
1 quote on TrueQuotesView all quotes by Khwaja Haidar Ali Aatish →
Related Quotes
"When I from life's unrest had earned the grace Of utter ease beside a quiet stream; When all that was had mingled in …"
"For sorrow and joy are one, and all the past And all the future mingle in a kiss."
"They said: "She dwelleth in some place apart, Immortal Truth, within whose eyes Who looks may find the secret of the …"
"In days of yore, there reigned in the extenfive and populous empire of Hindoostan, emblematic of Paradise, a Sovereig…"
"The lady, on hearing this melody, like the nightingale, having expanded the wings of curiosity in search of this flow…"
"Love is a precious gem, which, like the rays of the sun, to shut up in the obscurity of secrecy, is out of the circle…"
"Are the Tales of , said to be translated by Colonel Dow, genuine, or not? They certainly are. The original work is ca…"
"Let me not be sad because I am born a woman In this world; many saints suffer in this way."
"Can the river reject its fish? Can the mother spurn her child?"
"I am to die! yet I remember, dying, My soul's delight — my sweet unequalled, love, Like a fresh champak's golden blos…"