sarapa rehn-e-ishq o na-guzir-e-ulfat-e-hasti

My whole being is pledged to love, to life's inescapable affection; I worship the lightning, and I grieve for the harvest's desolation.

O Sāqī, even the stupor of unslaked thirst is measured by one's soul; If you are a river of wine, I am the long, weary yawn of the shore.

So drowned in the jealous blood of its own faith was the martyr's mind, that the heart's deep wounds stole the temper from the killer's sword.

O my own delight in self-beholding, borrow an envious eye; I am a spectator of the House of Oneness in the mirror of the heart.

A glance as fleeting as a spark can set a world of lamps ablaze; Here, the cup circulates according to the color of each spirit's gaze.

For my charge, the six directions were but a single, boundless plain; The distance to the goal was born of the traveler's own weariness and pain.

Ghalib, on the path of poetry, I have no fear of being led astray; The pen of Bedil is Khizr's staff in the desert of this art, lighting my way.