Bahut sahi gham-e-geeti sharaab kam kya hai

Though worldly sorrows loom, is wine so scant? I serve Heaven's Cupbearer; what then is want?

I know your every way, your subtle game. If kindness is for him, what then is pain?

Of Ghalib's fiery pen, the burning fame, I know it well, but what now is its flame?

To pass, a night; to bite, a serpent's charm. Someone explain those curls, what then is their harm?

Let others chart the stars, a futile claim. Who knows what moves the Pen, what then is its aim?

He scorns the Final Day, rejects each solemn rite; For God's sake, of his oath, what then is the might?

A knowing eye, my friend, is the true test; Or Solomon's Seal, and Jamshid's Cup—what then is the rest?