Be-e'tedaaliyon se subuk sab mein hum huay

Through all excess, our standing was at last made plain; The more we thought we had, the less we seemed to gain.

A cruel trap was hidden near our nesting plain; Before we learned to fly, we were caught fast in pain.

Our very being proves that we are meant to wane; Erased, until our own sworn oath is all that will remain.

Why ask for news of those who bear love’s crushing chain? In time, those souls become the very shape of pain.

How can your faith make up for all this worldly bane? For other cruelties than yours have fallen like the rain.

We wrote the blood-soaked chronicles of passion’s reign, Though in that act our hands were cut to write in crimson stain.

O God, her temper’s fire! From fear of its disdain, My broken cries consumed themselves, and deep inside were slain.

For slaves of lust, to quit love’s war is their campaign; The feet that turn and flee become the banners they attain.

Some cries were given to the void, a silent, lost refrain; But those it can’t contain become the breath my lungs sustain.

Asad, in beggary we kept our heart’s joy unfeigned; A supplicant, we loved the ones by whom true grace was gained.