Nikohish hai saza faryadi-e-bedaad-e-dilbar ki

The one who cries of cruelty, his pleas we spurn in turn, Lest on that final day a mocking smile should burn in turn.

The lover's vein takes root in dust for which mad lovers yearn, If farmers plant a blade, not seeds that grow and learn in turn.

The moth's wing was a sail upon the ship of wine, I learn, The party's heat has made the flowing goblet churn in turn.

Why speak of my desire for flight, a wish I still must yearn? My strength had flown before my wings could ever take their turn.

How long to weep behind her tent? This doom is my concern. O God, was not a wall of stone my fate, a lesson stern in turn?

The end of vanity would be a madness, I discern, If mirrors didn't show the chains of self that twist and turn in turn.

The pourer's pride, the drunkard's bold and reckless yearn, The sacred river's cool is but the dew on sin's hem we discern in turn.

The worldly want to borrow this poor heart of mine, I learn, Perhaps they wish to be the ocean's guest and watch it churn in turn.

Asad, what was Khizr's gift, that guide for whom men yearn? He should have sunk the Conqueror's ship, a lesson stern in turn.