Gham-e-duniya se gar paayi bhi fursat sar uthaane ki
19th Century Mirza Ghalib UrduIf worldly sorrows grant me leave to lift my head again, A glance toward the sky becomes a pretext for my pain.
How will my letter's meaning, Lord, its purpose now explain, When she has sworn to burn the page, to make my efforts vain?
A flame might hide in silk, a fire one could perhaps contain, But harder is the art to hide the heart's consuming pain.
She meant to see her wounded ones, her lovers in their chain, But feigned a garden stroll—observe her artful, sweet disdain.
My foolish heart was slain by your brief moment of disdain; Your coming, cruel one, was but a sign you'd leave again.
The strength that bore my idols' whims, I can no longer maintain; It cannot bear the kicks of fate, this life of constant strain.
What, Ghalib, can be said of modern character and its ways? The one I showered kindness on, with evil now repays.