O Murli Dhar

Who broke my cottage, my moonlit nest?

Who tore my twigs that I loved the best?

O Murli Dhar, is this Thy way?

Is this Thy blessing, this strange display?)

 

Who bore this malice, this envy inside?

Who tore my hut on Jhelum’s side?

My debris of twigs, my kangri’s glow—

Who left me with tears in the Vitasta’s flow?

Dead-tired Sudama reached home that night,

In his eyes, Dal Lake’s tears took flight.

“Who is this king in my weak old frame?

Whose shadow of grace has written my name?”

 

Where is my family? Where did they go?

Why do I stand alone where saffrons grow?

Hunger and thirst on my lips still lie,

Where is my Susheela, beneath this sky?

 

Where have these flowers, these blossoms, come?

Where has this green field, this meadow, sprung?

What wondrous field from Thy hands now streams,

What grace has fulfilled my autumn dreams?

Sham Misri