Short Poems

This old village-
not a single house
without persimmon trees.

This new volume
Rasul has sung in thy pang,
who’ dare to rebut come,
hand me another cup’

This moth saw brightness
in a woman's chamber--
burnt to a crisp.


Translated by Robert Hass

This love - O Bulleh - tormenting, unique
the face of the idol akin to the divine in heaven
can there be divinity without my beloved
even if I have to contest the scriptures
this love is fearless, marches to death in defiance
dances and whirls like a street prostitute,
to win a single smile from the beloved

This libation, Cupid, take,
With the lilies at thy feet;
Cherish Pierrot for their sake
Send him visions strange and sweet,
While he slumbers at thy feet.
Only love kiss him awake!
Only love kiss him awake!

This is Rasul Mir, at Shahabad, Doru.
He has opened a love-kiosk.
Come ye lovers, drink free cup.
Love's fire burns me deep

This first fallen snow
is barely enough to bend
the jonquil leaves

This counsel to the body give, O Soul:
Wear only such clothes as ward off cold;
Eat only to satisfy your hunger;
Devote yourself with all your heart
to the knowledge of the Supreme Self.
Consider this body to be food for the forest ravens.

This autumn will end.
Nothing can last forever.
Fate controls our lives.
Fondle my breasts
With your strong hands.

This aloneness is worth more than a thousand lives.
This freedom is worth more than all the lands on earth.
To be one with the truth for just a moment,
Is worth more than the world and life itself.