Deewangi se dosh pe zunnar bhi nahin

My madness leaves no sacred thread, a gesture vain, My pocket holds no single strand; this life is not sane.

My heart has bowed to longing's ache, a constant pain, But strength to see the one I seek is not quite sane.

If meeting you is hard, that I could bear again, The trouble is, to call it hard is not quite sane.

A life unlived in love is lived in endless rain, But strength to bear love’s sweet torment is not quite sane.

My frantic head's a weight my shoulders can't sustain, To find no wall to strike it on is not quite sane.

Forget the space for hating rivals, that disdain, My heart's too weak to even want my love; it is not sane.

Fear my laments, for God's sake, heed my soul's refrain, This is no captive songbird's cry; it is not sane.

My heart would face her lashes' ranks, endure the strain, Yet cannot bear a thorn's small prick; it is not sane.

For such sweet innocence, who would not die in pain? She comes to fight, but holds no sword; it is not sane.

We’ve seen Asad in crowds and solitude, it’s plain, If he is not a madman, then he is not sane.