Meri ta’mir meiN muzmir, hai ek soorat KHrabi ki Hayula burq-e-KHirman ka, hai KHoon-e-garm dehqaN ka

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 Meri  ta’mir  meiN   muzmir,  hai   ek   soorat   KHrabi   ki

In my creation, seeds of my doom also were programmed.

Hayula burq-e-KHirman ka, hai KHoon-e-garm dehqaN ka

The matter of lightening, that falls on farmer’s produce and the matter of his (laboring) hot blood is the same.

ta’mir= construction   Muzmir=concealed, mixed   KHarabi=destruction, end      soorat= part, situation   hayula= original matter, mass     burq=lightening    KHirman=grain heap    KHun-e-garm=hot blood, labor dehqan= a villager, a farmer.

This is the 6th verse of Ghalib’s 10th ghazal.                                              

Meaning: In this verse, Ghalib presents us story of oneness of veins of a farmer’s hand and a lightening. The blood that runs   in our body nourishes our body, keeps it warm, and gives us strength to work. This blood digests and dissolves what we eat and during this process blood it self also gets dissolved or destroyed. Ghalib says I am that farmer or villager, who by his labor, produces grain and piles it in field. Then a lightening strikes and destroys this pile. The reason behind is that the matter of my blood and that of lightening is the same. Meaning my creation already carries seeds of my end, my destruction. This verse echoes the Qur’an’s Aayat: “we shall make everything taste death”.  Every existing thing will perish or end because formula of destruction is programmed into every creation. Our existence and our end have the same matter. We die or perish because we live or exist. People say, world is there so far we live. Ghalib says death is there so far we live.

Finer aspects of this verse: Please study the pictures drawn in the beginning of this explanation. The veins of hand and the branches of lightening look the same. The hand with red blood works and produces and the lightening with white blood destroys the farmer’s grain-heap. We can’t stop wondering Ghalib’s imagination. He brings unique metaphors, similes, and hyperbole from far fetched corners. No poet can come close!                                                                              

Ghalibologists’ opinions: 

Niyaz Fatehpuri’s opinion:Who do I complain about my destruction when in my making a formula of my end is programmed? As the villager’s grain-pile becomes a reason/place for the lightening to strike, the same way my being or my existence becomes a reason of my death.

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