Ubaidullah Pandit (عبيدالله پنڈت)

Picking up the receiver of Love, I dial God, Pleasure and Happiness. The lamenting dial tone eagerly waits So as to turn mellow to the hopeless ears. Through the mouthpiece of Beelzebub, I send my supplications along the line of whores. Sorted in the switching center of brothels, They go through mosques and shrines of hate. 'It's a long-distance call, too long to get across. The called party is asleep after a long orgy, The calling party, you, seems drunk. Please dial the toll free Pain, Nice Day!'

Is anyone of you travelling to Happiness? I haven't been there lately, do intimate please. For a while, happening to be forever, I've been here, waiting for a passer-by To take me along, with the caravan Bound for Happiness, leaving behind signs Of smiles, hopes, rewards and rest. I know no routes that lead there, But I'm hopeful as I see no marks yet. I'll wait for the caravan, do intimate please. I'll wait out the winds, live off the land, Look ever for you to pass, do intimate please. Would that I be found, I’ll hold the beacon Beneath the changing skies and raging rains, Hearken ever to rustling leaves, just intimate please.

Bare bosom and sandalwood worn,   She leads the prayer   And blesses the rug with her feet.   In the niche her virtues play,   Reflecting the light and enlivening darkness.   Sublimely she hides God in her cleavage   And calls upon the Devil for a drink.

Envious curtains refuse to be drawn across, As the eyes of the walls seek to get a glimpse Of the long awaited Oneness of us the Lovers. Shame be known and absolved, I with her venture into the fields of hate, Only to be lit by the lonesome yet full Moon, To be seen by the skies and God the Glorious. Vying to shelter and shower, the plumes of love Keep seeking out the fragrance of us the twain. The dew wet greenery we lie upon finds a hope Of spring that brings flowers in full bloom, New life, new rays, new pastures, new universe.

I with my Love sin among the lush green trees, Unbeknown to Him, we break the divine sanctity. Naked, looking across the verdant verdure, We lie beneath the tree, the knowing. Image of God faded, our Selves took over, Ah, the envy of God our Union is! Ashamed, the serpent slithers away, ‘Where do I find my lost angelhood?’ Cries. I with my Love meet again at the horizon, Out of our sinful Union we shine galore. Withered once, the tree knowing conceives, Joyous once, the tree living turns barren.

I lost my wallet while wandering between The pillar of despair and the post of hope. It’s colored dark, switching ever between White and black, pain and relief. Made of sinful desires, it's damp With the sweat of immoral earnings. Would that you, the one sharing in my soul, Find it, never return it please. Too long it's been with me now, Send it along through your routes. It contains cries and sighs of mine, Meant to be dispatched to Eternity. In the smallest pocket is my lost Identity Which they will demand at the Entrance. In the middle of the fold is God, Who'd been asleep when I lost it. The pocket beside contains Emptiness, Which is ever awake, waiting thirstily. O the finder, never return it please, Send it along through your routes.