Mehram nahin hai tu hi nawa-haaye-raaz ka

You are not attuned to the secret's melody, Or you would know this veil is the screen of the music's mystery.

A fading color is the dawn of a spring-like gaze, This is the hour for the blooming of the flowers of your coy displays.

You, with your sharp glances meant for another's part; And I, with the constant pain of your long lashes' art.

My profit lies in the restraint of the sigh's lament, Or I am the prey of one soul-melting breath's full extent.

Such is the wine's fever, the glasses leap and fly; Each corner of the feast is the crown of the juggler's eye.

The heart demands a constant striving, for you see, The nail still owes a debt to the knot's half-mystery.

Asad, your breast, which was a treasury for the secret's pearl, Is ravaged by the digging of separation's grief-filled whirl.