Ki puchdiyun ho haal fakeeraan da,
Saada nadiyun vichade neeraan da.
Saada hanjh di june aayeen da,
Saada dil jaliyaan dilgeeraan da!
Eh jaandeyan kujh shokh jahe
Rangaan da na hi tasveeraan hai,
Jad had gaye aseen ishke di,
Mul kar baithe tasveeraan da!
Sanu lakhaan da tan labh gaya,
Par ik da man vi na miliya.
Kya likhiya kise mukahdar si
Hathaan diyan chaar lakeeraan da!
Takdeer da aapni saukan si,
Tadbeeraan saathon na hoiyaan.
Na jhang Chutaya na kan paate
Chund lang gaya injh heeraan da.
Mere geet vi lok suneende ne,
Naale kaafar aakh sadeende ne,
MaeN darad nu kaaba keh baitha
Rahb naaN rakh baithe peeraan da.
Main daanashvaran suneendiyaan sang,
Kai vaari uhchi bol piya,
Kujh maan si sanu ishke da,
Kujh daava vi si peeraan da!
Toon khud nu aakal kahihda hain,
Main khud nu aashik dasda haan,
Ih lokaan te Chad daeeye,
Kihnu maan ne dinde peeraan da!
Translation....
Why ask about the condition of fakirs like us?
We are water, separated from its river,
Emerged from a tear,
Melancholy, distressed.
Of course I knew that a painting is just
A whimsy of colors-
But when I entered the emporium of love,
I paid a price.
Countless bodies did I find,
But not one mind did I meet.
This was written in my fate,
In the four lines of my palm.
My destiny was my rival.
I could never find a way to escape it.
I did not leave Jhang, I did not pierce my ears,
And a crowd of Heers crossed my path.
People listen to my songs,
But call me a heretic,
Because I named pain my kaaba,
And sorrow, my god.
On occasion, in gatherings of great people
I have spoken sharply.
Perhaps I was arrogant about my love,
Perhaps I felt I had a claim upon pain.
You call yourself a wise man,
I say I am a lover.
Let us leave it to the people to decide
To whom they will give the esteem of a pir.
