saadgi par us ki mar jaane ki hasrat dil mein hai

A wish to die for her sweet innocence lies still Within my heart; the dagger's with the one to kill.

Her speech held such a rapture, a transcendent thrill, I thought, "These very words were in my own heart still."

Though faults surround her, and her circle brings a chill, My name sounds better spoken in that circle still.

Let crowds of hopelessness be ground down by despair's mill; A singular delight is in my fruitless skill.

Why bear the journey's pain? For love, my feet are ill With weariness; my journey's end finds them standing still.

So let my heart be where the fires of damnation spill— But in whose very clay was Judgment's chaos worked with will?

This heart of Ghalib, a charm of twisting, turning skill— Pity your own desire, trapped in a place so ill.