Rone se aur ishq mein be-baak ho gaye

In love, our weeping made us bold and free; Washed by our tears, until we were made pure.

The tools for drinking wine were sold for wine; With that one trade, the final books were cleared.

Your wandering brought you shame in the world's eyes, But you, in reading souls, were rendered wise.

Who says the nightingale laments in vain? A million hearts, in the rose-veil, were rent.

Why ask if men of passion live or die? For their own flames, they were the tinder thrown.

I went to her to mourn her artful slight; One glance she gave, and I was turned to ash.

With such strange grace she lifted Asad's bier, That even foes who watched were filled with grief.