The Afghans have gone mad about posts and dignities;
But God preserve me, from such plagues and troubles!
Unto whom belongeth the gift of discretion: to the swordsman?
Just the same as one learneth the ?ur’an, in the schools?
Not one amongst them is gifted with the art of prudence;
For, with the dispositions of all of them, I am well acquainted.
The Afghans have one very great failing, if thou but notice-
That they, with the titles and dignities of the Mughals, coquet.
Shame and reputation, fame and honour, are of no account;
But, certainly, they talk enough about offices, rank, and gold.
Look not towards the Mughals with the eyes of cupidity;
Even, if in the habit of doing so, from any other cause!
The trusty Khattaki sword is buckled round my waist;
But not the custom of servitude, in village and in town.
The dark night of Aurangzeb’s prison, I hold in remembrance,
When all the night long, “O God! O God!” continually, I cried.
If the Afghans would but oppose the Mughals with the sword,
Every Khattak, by the bridle-rein, should lead a Mughal away.
Amongst the Khattaks, O Khushal! no council of honour existeth;
Hence, I cannot conceive from what lineage they have sprung.
(Khoshal Khan Khattak)
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