Aamad-e-sailaab-e-toofan-e-sada-e-aab hai

The flood's approach is in the water's thundering sound, The path is deafened by the footprint on the ground, from this.

Whose drunken eyes have made this feast a waste profound? A fairy's pulse in wine's deep, swirling current's wound, from this.

My wild desire, a passion roaring and unbound, Reads my disgrace in tears that on the sands are found, from this.

A trap, if hidden in the green, with beauty crowned, Becomes a peacock, by spring's magic spell unwound, from this.

Now Layla's tent is black, Majnun's home a barren mound, Of ruin, from a love whose wound was world-renowned, from this.

This life, Asad, is a great spectacle profound, We see through eyes from sleep of nothingness still bound, from this.