Maybe this is me.

I have heard, felt, smelt,  absorbed, understood, loved, inculcated, consumed this exquisite ghazal by "Muzaffar Warsi" since I was fourteen years old.  Maybe this is the very essence of who I am. Maybe this is the core of what I wish to be. Maybe this is me.

I have translated it to the best of my ability. I hope the pride, the honour, the nobility  that shines through in these beautiful words does not get lost in the translation.

Shola hoon bhadakne ki guzaarish nahin karta
Sach munh se nikal jaataa hai koshish nahin karta
I am a flame and I do not need to take permission from anyone to burn brightly. The truth just slips out of me… I don’t even have to try.

Girtii hui deewaar ka hamdard hoon lekin
Chadhte huey sooraj ki parastish nahin kartaa
I have compassion for a wall that is deteriorating and falling to pieces. But I do not wish to worship the rising sun.

Maathe ke paseene ki mehak aaye na jis se
Wo khoon mere jism mein gardish nahin karta
The blood that is not fragrant with the perspiration of my forehead.... That blood does not dare to meander in my body.

Hamdardi-e-ehbaab se dartaa hoon 'muzaffar'
Main zakhm to rakhtaa hoon numaaish nahin karta

I am afraid of the sympathy of my loved ones… though I nurture my wounds and hurts, I do not like to put them on display.