Dard se mere hai tujh ko be-qarari haaye haaye

My pain once made you turn and sway, ah, this grief; Where did your practiced coldness stray? Ah, this grief.

If your own heart could not face grief's disarray, Then why did you once soothe my pain that day? Ah, this grief.

Why did the thought to ease my burden weigh? Your friendship was but hate put on display, ah, this grief.

You swore a vow of faith for life, but pray, Does life itself not promise to decay? Ah, this grief.

The very air of life now brings dismay, For it was you who drove its peace away, ah, this grief.

What of your grace, that coy, flowered display? Your tulip-art now blooms on lifeless clay, ah, this grief.

To hide in dust from shame's public display, Your need to guard love's secrets fell away, ah, this grief.

The sacred vow of love is ground to clay; The very path of friendship sees decay, ah, this grief.

The sword-hand, testing its cruel art, lost sway; It could not land one fatal blow to slay, ah, this grief.

How can one pass these monsoon nights of grey? My eyes are trained to watch the stars' array, ah, this grief.

My ears, no message; eyes, no beauty's ray; One heart, and this despair it must obey, ah, this grief.

O Ghalib, love had not yet turned to frenzied fray; A taste for my disgrace held all the sway, ah, this grief.