Gayi woh baat ke ho guftugu to kyun kar ho

That time for talk is gone; for words to flow, how could it be? When nothing came of speaking, to speak now, how could it be?

The thought of union is the only union that we know; Without that thought, we're lost—for it to be, how could it be?

When decorum itself becomes a struggle, what is there to do? When modesty just means to waver so, how could it be?

You tell me how a worshipper of idols can survive; If the nature of the idols is this cold, how could it be?

You grow perplexed yourself when you behold your mirror's view; If there were one or two more like you here, how could it be?

For one whose fate is my own blackened day, you see, To not then call the nighttime 'day,' how could it be?

That I should hope for her, that she should see my worth; When she won't even ask how I get by, how could it be?

It wasn't wrong to think her letter might bring some relief; But if the eye that craves the sight won't yield, how could it be?

You tell me, seeing that one eyelash, how I might find peace; When like a lance it's sunk deep in my soul, how could it be?

I am not mad, O Ghalib; yet, as my master would contend, To find some peace in separation's pain, how could it be?