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My sweetheart is coming as my guest. !
I'm making garlands of flowers,
Filling glasses and carpeting bowers in Shalamar!

Looking at the garden from this height,
I feel lost, seeing departing caravans
Of flowers slowly on the move.

My tears roll down in streams
When he is far away from me,
And I am pierced with taunts.

One moment he makes me roam in heaven,
Where the houries envy my swinging ear rings;
But very soon he lays me low on the dust!

How oft he has made me swallow grief! -
Not that I record these episodes,
For though he slays, he does restore my life.

To watch him enjoy the meadow flowers,
I lie hiding in the forest shades,
With sylvan fairies singing songs of love.

His words lie enshrined in my heart - a secret
Which my lips don't know, like the gardener
Doesn't know what the gut tells the bulbul!

With loving care I adorn myself with garlands
And scent my jessamine skin.
But, O how futile, if my lord accepts me not!

My diamond was tested in every shop
In the market of love, but wouldn't sell,
Found wanting because of a fault.

My ardent love saps my strength.
When I lie down by his side,
For he doesn't unbutton his heart

I'm unnerved when he's annoyed with me,
But I nurse the pain in my heart;
Or, like Mahjoor, weave my complaints into songs.

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