Zikr us pari-vash ka aur phir bayaan apna

To speak of her, and with such praise explain, my own, Has made a rival of the friend I’ve known, my own.

Why does she drink with others? Is it a sign, my own, She means to test this fragile heart of mine, my own?

A grander vista we could yet design, my own, If past God’s Throne our dwelling could but shine, my own.

Her every insult I would treat as benign, my own, But now her guard, I find, is from my line, my own.

How long to write this pain? I must combine, my own, My wounded fingers with this bloody line, my own.

You changed the stone for naught, a pointless sign, my own; From shame of my prostrations, it would pine, my own.

Lest he betray the trust, I now align, my own, My foe, to speak of this false friend of mine, my own.

What wisdom did I have? What craft divine, my own? That heaven, Ghalib, should become malign, my own.