Kal ke liye kar aaj na khasat sharaab mein

For future thirst, don't hoard today's supply of wine; Such doubt insults the Sāqi of the Fount Divine.

Why so disgraced today, when once it was a crime For angels to show pride before our form sublime?

Why does the soul take flight when mystic music plays, If that true sound is held within the lute's design?

Life's wild steed gallops on; who knows where it will stay? No hand is on the reins, no foot in this design.

The distance from my Self is measured by the pain Of seeing "otherness" within this false design.

The seer, the seeing, and the seen are all but one; So how can observation fit in this design?

The ocean's being holds all forms that intertwine; What is a drop or wave or bubble in its brine?

Her coyness is a show of grace, though meant to hide; How unveiled are the ones who wear such a design.

Still busy with the art of beauty's grand display, A mirror, ever veiled, is held in this design.

What we call real is but the Unseen's deepest veil; They're dreaming still who think they've woken in this shrine.

From the Friend's friend, O Ghalib, comes the Friend's own sign; In serving Bū-Turāb, I serve the Truth Divine.