About my heart with your old playthings.
The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.

_Mira_ is a mountain goat that climbs to die
Upon the top peak in the rocks of grief;
It is the hour; make haste.
The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.

_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._



GHAZAL OF MAJID SHAH

Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me;
The black dust has covered my pretty one.

My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend;
How pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here.

I can only dream of the stature of my friend;
The flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden.

Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers;
I am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey.

I am _Majid Shah_, a slave that ministers to the dead;
Abdel Qadir Gilani, even the Master, shall not save me.

_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._