zulmat-kade mein mere shab-e-gham ka josh hai

Within my house of gloom, grief's passions groan; The one last candle, dawn's sole proof, is overthrown.

No news of union, no fair beauty shown; For ages, peace for eye and ear is unknown.

The wine has made self-adorning beauty known; O passion, yes! The rule of sense is overthrown.

To see the pearl upon a lover's collar-bone; The pearl-seller's bright star is on its throne.

The sight of wine, the Saaqi's will, the lover's moan; My mind's own salon is a tavern, hushed, alone.

O new arrivals to the heart where whims are sown, Beware, if for the flute and wine you're prone.

Look at me, if your eyes can learn from what is shown; And listen, if your ears to wisdom are not stone.

The radiant Saaqi—foe to faith we've known; The singer's song—a thief of reason's throne.

At night, we saw each corner of the revel grown So full of grace, like garden flowers freshly strewn.

The Saaqi's graceful gait, the harp's melodic drone— One is a heaven for the eyes, for ears a throne.

But come at dawn and see the salon, and you'll groan: The joy, the fire, the passion—all have flown.

Scarred by the grief of that lost company, and thrown Aside, one candle stands, and it is all alone, and makes no moan.

From the unseen, these thoughts into my mind are thrown: O Ghalib, for my scratching pen makes known An angel's voice, in its own sacred tone.