Kaargah-e-hasti mein laala daagh-e-samaan hai

In life's vast workshop, tulips bear a stain; The flash that burns our comfort is the farmer's lifeblood's rain.

The bud, though poised, holds solace in its sheath in vain; For deep within, the flower's dream is scattered by its pain.

How can we bear this restlessness, this strain? Our mark of helplessness: a fire that feeds upon its own domain.

By Love's neglect, the world now roams in vain; The open sky becomes a prison's binding chain.

To see costs blood; to feel is but to strain; Behind the rose, a mirror makes the hidden truth-light plain.

The bloom's a lonely terror; see the tulip's dark terrain, Where, like a censer's smoke, its sorrow spreads its wings again.

O Grace, be not unmindful, lest poor Asad remain An empty shell that's turned away from heaven's pearl-filled rain.