Kare hai baada tere lab se kasb-e-rang-e-farogh

The wine itself from your lips learns to glow; The goblet’s rim is one long, hungry stare.

When will this frantic heart find its reward? It’s worshipped longing, a whole life of despair.

The rose is right to scorn the bulbul’s plea; Its ear with dew is plugged beyond all care.

Asad is dying; faithless one, for God’s sake, come! This is no time for pride or formal care.