Larazta hai mera dil zahmat-e-mehr-e-darakhshan par

My heart now trembles at the sun’s imperious reign; I am the drop of dew a desert thorn upon.

Not even here did Joseph cease to decorate his pain, For Jacob’s whitened gaze now wanders that dark prison upon.

I learned self-loss when time itself was but a barren plain, While Majnun scrawled the mark of Nothing that school’s high wall upon.

What sweet relief from healing’s anxious toil I would obtain, If my heart’s fragments made their peace the salt-dish laid upon.

In love’s domain, no proud decree escapes this final chain: Its title sealed by one dismissive, turning glance upon.

The crimson-stainèd clouds of dusk remind me of the pain, When, in your absence, fire would fall the rose-filled grounds upon.

Of passion’s flight, what trace of beauty can at last remain? The final judgment is a fierce wind blown their dust upon.

O Ghalib, do not fight the preacher’s words of sharp disdain; Our only power, in the end, is our own collar torn upon.

This blood-soaked heart, impatient, scorns love’s grace and its domain; O God, let one great cataclysm from the East descend Badakhshan upon.

O Asad, cease this futile rage, this argument in vain; The helpless have no power but what their own collar falls upon.