Ghuncha-e-naashagufta ko door se mat dikha ke yoon

Don't show the bud unbloomed from far away; I ask you for a kiss—so teach me the way.

Why ask her of her captivating art? Each silent gesture makes its own display.

To come with wine, the rival in her sway— God, let her come, but God, not in this way.

I asked, "What of your friend and yesterday?" She sat and stared, to answer my dismay.

Before her in the gathering, why not stay In silence? Even that has much to say.

I said, "This court of grace wants none but us." That cruel wit then motioned me away.

My lover asked, "How are the senses lost?" Seeing me lost, the wind began to sway.

I had forgotten how one ought to be, Till her footprint's own awe showed me the way.

If you should fear that union quells desire, A wave in the vast ocean beats the bay.

If some should doubt our new verse can compete With Persian's art, then read them Ghalib's lay.