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Though tombstones fine of bluish slate
Should ornament, adorn, my grave,
But I were to have died a slave,
Come, spit on and defile them!
If my body were not bathed,
In my blood, and sanctified,
Do not ever desecrate
Precincts of the mosque with it.
And if I were not to be
Into numerous pieces hacked
By the forces of the foe,
Mother, dear, how could you
Over me lament and cry?
I shall soon this land, deprived
Both of honour and of pride,
Into Paradise transform,
Or the ranks of Pukhtoon youth
Decimate, their streets denude.
Let death overtake me
Whenever it will;
It will find me prepared,
With a flower in hand,
Or mounted upon
A snorting steed;
Or a gun in hand,
Or quill and ink;
And drowned in laughter
The cares of the world;
Whatever's in store,
Is enough, no more!
Let death overtake me
Whenever it will.
Ghani Khan
Should ornament, adorn, my grave,
But I were to have died a slave,
Come, spit on and defile them!
If my body were not bathed,
In my blood, and sanctified,
Do not ever desecrate
Precincts of the mosque with it.
And if I were not to be
Into numerous pieces hacked
By the forces of the foe,
Mother, dear, how could you
Over me lament and cry?
I shall soon this land, deprived
Both of honour and of pride,
Into Paradise transform,
Or the ranks of Pukhtoon youth
Decimate, their streets denude.
Let death overtake me
Whenever it will;
It will find me prepared,
With a flower in hand,
Or mounted upon
A snorting steed;
Or a gun in hand,
Or quill and ink;
And drowned in laughter
The cares of the world;
Whatever's in store,
Is enough, no more!
Let death overtake me
Whenever it will.
Ghani Khan
:phool:
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