Aamad-e-khat se hua hai sard jo bazaar-e-dost

That first dark line has cooled your market's price, Beloved; Perhaps it is the smoke from beauty’s candle snuffed, Beloved.

O reckless heart, you must contain this wild desire, Beloved; For who could bear the dazzling sight of your full grace, Beloved?

Behold how wonder makes a ruin of my soul, Beloved; I am a footprint, vanished in your passing stride, Beloved.

The torment of my rival's glance has been my death, Beloved; I am slain by your foe, though I was your patient, Beloved.

My eyes are bright, for your unfeeling heart is pleased, Beloved; This blood-filled gaze of mine becomes your brimming cup, Beloved.

My rival feigns concern for me in your long absence, Beloved, As if he were some intimate, a confidant of yours, Beloved.

To prove to me the privileged access he enjoys, Beloved, He brings me word of promised meetings I might have, Beloved.

And when I speak of how my mind has lost its strength, Beloved, He starts to praise the perfumed story of your hair, Beloved.

If he should find me weeping silently in grief, Beloved, He laughs, and tells me tales of your own playful wit, Beloved.

Let me lament the ‘kindnesses’ my rival shows, Beloved, That I might better praise the pleasure of your pain, Beloved.

I love this ghazal, Ghalib, from my very soul, Beloved, Forcing my verse to echo with your name so much, Beloved.

The world, with eyes shut, sees but its own vanity, Beloved; While every brick and stone of your house is a mirror, Beloved.

A piercing glance is lightning on a field of gems, Beloved; My tears are scorched to dust by the heat of your stride, Beloved.

Your youthful height has raised it a full spear’s length high, Beloved; The flower in your turban is the sun of Judgment Day, Beloved.

O enemy of reason, stay subdued in grief a while, Beloved; You must collect the strength to face that playful glance, Beloved.

A drunken stumbling, Asad, a fevered, wild display, Beloved; The fire of wine has made your market burn like spring, Beloved.