Na leve gar khas-e-jauhar taravat sabza-e-khat se
19th Century Mirza Ghalib UrduIf essence fails to drink from youth's first verdant trace, The mirrored hall is set by that bright star with fire.
The lover's pain is solved by beauty's radiant gleam; What frees the waxen foot from its deep scar but fire?
A spark is but the form a solemn splendor makes; The sun gives stone its task, its avatar, in fire.
Without the melting wax, no sculpted form can rise; What seed can grow the candle-tree? A single spark of fire.
To think of smoke would be a mind's profound mistake, If ash did not the memory of its being mar with fire.
The urge to flutter wings is lightning for the soul; The restless flame takes flight upon a moth-strewn bar of fire.
The flash and spark are but the frenzy of a pulse suppressed, A scapegoat for the grace of one who walks afar, is fire.
From that smoke, clouds would form and rain down endless seas, Asad, should Haidar's men engage this world in war with fire.