Shab khumaar-e-shauq-e-saaqi rastakhez-andaaza tha

The night's deep hangover of thirst, a taste of judgment's blaze it was; The whole expanse of flowing wine, a hall of endless yawning was.

One step in sacred madness unlocked the book of what could be; The path that bound two scattered worlds, a desert's binding it was.

And who could stop the frenzied steps of Layla, should she choose to roam? The house of desert-mad Majnun, a place without a doorway was.

Ask not about the shame of beauty's proud and cold disdain; Its hand was pawned to henna's touch, its cheek to painted blush was.

The wailing of my heart has cast its broken pages to the wind; The one memorial to that cry, a book of verse unbound, it was.

I am a lamp-lit feast of want, like paper scorched by hungry flame; Each scar, in striving to create a newer scar, its purpose found, it was.

Asad, your destitution is the soul of your song's wide renown; Your humble mat of reeds, a world of flutes with soaring sound it was.