ohde se madh-e-naaz ke baahar na aa saka

I'm bound to praise the art of your disdain, If it were one act, my own downfall I'd call.

Your looping curls are eyes that watch my soul, Each strand a kohl-dark gaze that holds in thrall, I call.

I offer thousand-fold, soul-scraping cries, Your single silence, an unyielding wall, I call.

My tyrant, don't let my own doubt bring me shame, To think you faithless would be bitter gall, I call.