Day's End

The earth has cloaked the folds of the horizon with its mud-dyed, faded grey anchal of deep pathos. Birds fly out of some depth of the clouds, as though towards some inviting home lit by evening lamp. Through the sunset-dim casement of the sky which lovelorn bride of endless time casts her fearful eyes in the direction of sunrise having lit her golden lamp perhaps waiting for her love who left with a promise to return. The sighs making the realm of sunset heavy with cloud and vapour. In the sad eyes of the ever-waiting primordially tragic maiden in the lamplight brought at the doorway to light up her love's path falls the shadow of Mother Earth. The cry of pity condenses in the downward looking still horizon. Timeless pains of the eternally suffering Mother Earth pours down through the ages perhaps in this late autumn. That load of accumulated pains lies prostrate, its face buried the fragrance of pain, as though, weeps in muted sorrow in such quiet serene evening. Slowly descends Night spreading around her dust-smeared unkempt tresses the evening star sinks day's configuration melts away. Amid this, for no reason, alas the cloud of pain hovers in my two eyes. In my heart echo the cries of nought and some pining lover wails 'Everything is empty, everything the sky, earth, this evening the compassion of the universe can spare for you no tears.' Hearing this I am reminded how many times I visited the temple and like the contemptible street beggar made supplications for divine grace. 'Open the door O worshipper at your door has arrived a suppliant.' The door was opened I saw the god in the shrine I made an offering of blood and tears The god spoke no words. Oh, these are the eyes that spared for me no tears, I lament, what love-bereft shrine of god it is, bare of all compassion. O fatuous ones! Where are the gods! From them one seeks love! Like a volcano coming to the desert and pleading for jets of water. In the houses around me there is so much worshipping. Seeing this my love-sick heart weeps and looks back again and again and humiliated, it comes back I am afraid someone may laugh over my foolish earnestness. The gods have laughter, not tears. O my heart, neglected you are through the ages come let us beat a retreat. This evening I feel there is beyond this emptiness a greater emptiness in this heart of mine, the heart that was disdainfully ignored by the gods. That's why perhaps my tortured love is as destructive as it is. These arms shall never embrace the lady-love. The rejected love of mine is not a garland but naked lance. [Original: Bela sheshe, Translation: Zakeria Shirazi]