Diya hai dil agar uss ko, bashar hai kya kahiye

I gave my heart; she’s human, prone to err... what is there to say? My rival is the one she sends, her courier... what is there to say?

This whim: she will not come, yet cannot bear to stay away; How deep my grievance is with fate’s affair... what is there to say?

She comes and goes so fitfully, that sacred lane I knew, If I don't call it now the enemy's lair... what is there to say?

What miracle, what sweet deception she has spun for me, That without a word, of all my pain she is aware... what is there to say?

She asks about my health in public, with a calculated art, So people think she met me simply there... what is there to say?

You have no thought for faithfulness, that fragile, sacred thread; But in my hand there's something I still bear... what is there to say?

She meets my question with a prideful, mad display, so why contend? I turn my gaze from her reply, beyond all care... what is there to say?

Envy’s the price for mastery in verse, what can one do? And cruelty the cost of talent that is rare... what is there to say?

Who says that Ghalib isn't good? He's not, they will concede, Except his head is troubled past repair... what is there to say?