Muzhda ae zauq-e-aseeri ke nazar aata hai

Good news, my love of chains, for now a snare Lies empty, and my own dear cage is near.

My soul, which only thirsts for pain, knows no repair, Though streams of blood flow where the thorns are near.

My eyes, while opening, began to close in my despair; You came at the perfect time—your dying love is near.

I would not die this halting death, I truly swear, If my consoler, past his words of empty care, Instead of just his tongue, a sharpened blade was near.

Go sit inside a lion’s mouth, my heart, but do not dare To stand by cruel beauties, for that danger is near.

The garden, seeing you, grows with such vibrant air, A rose now seeks the turban that you choose to wear; It comes on its own, because your grace is near.

Your wild Ghalib is dead, alas, in his despair, His final act was sitting, for your wall was near.