For Akhlaq Ahmad and Swen Simon
You can’t write Urdu
On Dilli’s walls, Mian1
There’s a saffron lock
On your zuban2, Mian
Horsemen of all faith
Plundered Dilli’s rūḥ3,
They only blame it on
Your ancestors, Mian
From Bīdel to Ghalib
Run rosaries in Urdu,
They embalm history
With rare attar4, Mian
You outlaw a tongue
By policing the wall?
The gardens, the air,
Breathe Urdu, Mian
In the heart of Dilli
Graves speak Urdu,
Even parrots, dusk,
And my jigar5, Mian
Notes:1 Respectful address of a Muslim2 Tongue3 Soul4 Fragrance made of rose petals5 Liver, Shakespeare’s “seat of passion”