Seemab-pusht garmi-e-aaina de hai hum

We are the quicksilver that makes mirrors stare, And stuns the restless heart beyond compare.

The rose's arms now open in despair; Come, nightingale, spring's days are gone beyond compare.

I circle you, my grief held back with care, A ritual to take your pain beyond compare.

In blood I writhe since she has left me bare, The bloody footprint of her passing, beyond compare.

My thoughts, Asad, on union and despair Have left me unfit for all worldly care, beyond compare.