Mat mardumak-e-deeda mein samjho yeh nigaahein

Do not mistake these glances that the pupils frame; They are but sighs, the eye's dark heart, a core of pain.

What heart withstands her lashes, marshalled to campaign? From the mirror's shallows, armies march again.

The temple and the mosque reflect desire's chain; The weariness of longing carves its own domain.

As glances gather in the pupil's dark domain, The sighs lie sleeping in the wonder-house of stain.

The paths of vision in her curling tresses wane, As smoke is gathered through a narrow windowpane.

Each atom's heart I found, a wild and sacred plain; The poppy's royal crown is filled with passion's stain.

This verse, Asad, could be a spell words can't contain, If you would show the burnt heart's welcoming of pain.

My eyes are stunned by meaning's flash, a bright domain; From the eye's dark heart, I draw forth sighs of pain.