Ghazal of Majid Shah

Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me;

The black dust has covered my pretty one.

My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend;

How pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here.

I can only dream of the stature of my friend;

The flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden.

Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers;

I am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey.

I am Majid Shah, a slave that ministers to the dead;

Abdel Qadir Gilani, even the Master, shall not save me.

From the Pus’hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).