Dil laga kar lag gaya unko bhi tanha baithna

She too, by loving me, has learned to be alone; At last my own despair has been repaid in this place.

All elements of being are destined to degrade; The sun's a lamp on a path by the wild wind swayed in this place.

The pomp of tyranny is a piteous masquerade; The hunter’s every lure is a captive’s tear displayed in this place.

The dripping of the blood is like soft wax unmade; A hornet’s sting, in truth, is the surgeon’s healing blade in this place.

The charity of lords is a debt we have evaded; A flower’s gold is to our eyes like hardened steel’s cold grade in this place.

The heart’s least stir has opened knots that labor’s arts forbade; The stone-hewer Farhad is a lesser craftsman made in this place.

The slain one’s drops of blood are your robe’s trim, Asad; The headsman’s flower-harvest is a spectacle displayed in this place.