Gar khamoshi se faida ikhfa-e-haal hai

If silence hides the truth of my despair, I'm glad my words are riddles in the air.

This ache to speak—to whom can I appeal? My heart keeps books on tongues that can't reveal.

O God, what veil conceals the Molder of all art? Your grace itself pleads for the silent heart.

My love, my foe? God shield me from that dread! O humbled passion, what has your mind bred?

The Kaaba's musk-dark cloth, by a sacred footstep known, Is earth's own navel, not a musk-deer's scent alone.

My desolation cramps the cosmos' frame; The rivers are the earth's own sweat of shame.

Asad, don't trust existence's false design; The world's a loop within the trap of mind.

Asad, don't shrink from sorrow or from pain; Give your whole heart to grief—it is the beggar's gain.