Zehaale Maskeen
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Amir Khusro (Architect of Urdu Poetry) was an author and inventor, composer and chronicler, businessman and swordsman, Sufi and scholar, musician and poet. “His mentor, Khawja Nizamuddin Auliya, one of the greatest sufi saints
of India instructed him to invent a new language to facilitate conversation and harmony between the local inhabitants i.e. Hindus and the new immigrants
i.e. Muslims from Iran, Afghanistan and Central Asia.

In compliance, Amir Khusro started composing verses by mixing up Persian with Brij Bhasha (an early form of modern Hindi). And by doing so, he laid the nucleus of Urdu Poetry. And the result was.

Ze haal-e-miskeen makun taghaful, (Persian)
doraaye nainaan banaye batyaan (Brij)

ke taab-e-hijraah nadarum aye jaan, (Persian)
na laihyo kaa-he-laga-e-Chatyaan (Brij)

Shabaan-e-hijraan draaz chun zulf, roz-e waslat chun umar kotaah (Persian)
Sakhi piya ko jo main na dekhun, to kaise kaatu’n andheri ratiyaan (Brij)

Yake yak az dil, do chasm-e-jadu, basad farebam beburd taskeen (Persian)
Kise pari hai, jo sunade, peyari pi ko hamari batyan (Brij)

Choo sham-e-sozan, choo zarra hairan, ze muhre-aan mahgushtam aakhir (Persian)
Na neend naina’n, na ang chaina, na aap aawe’n , na bheje patya’n (Brij)

Bahaqq-e roz-e wisal-e dilbar ki daad mara ghareeb Khusrau;
Sapet man ke waraaye raakhun jo jaaye paaon piya ke khatiyan.

couldn’t translate it, may I treat you with others hardwork,

mine someday else perhaps…..! :)

Do not overlook my misery by blandishing your eyes,
and weaving tales; My patience has over-brimmed,
O sweetheart, why do you not take me to your bosom.
Long like curls in the night of separation,
short like life on the day of our union;
My dear, how will I pass the dark dungeon night
without your face before.
Suddenly, using a thousand tricks, the enchanting eyes robbed me
of my tranquil mind;
Who would care to go and report this matter to my darling?
Tossed and bewildered, like a flickering candle,
I roam about in the fire of love;
Sleepless eyes, restless body,
neither comes she, nor any message.
In honour of the day I meet my beloved
who has lured me so long, O Khusro;
I shall keep my heart suppressed,
if ever I get a chance to get to her trick.

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