Hai bazm-e-butaan mein sukhan aazurda-labon se

In this court of idols, truth is met with veiled replies, And I am weary of the men who thrive on fawning lies.

The slow-passed cup distresses even the impatient wine; Just give me the whole cask, I'm weary of these pleading cries.

O pious man, the tavern's revelers are coarse and bold; Don't mix with them, I'm weary of the judgments they despise.

Behold the cruelty of faith—it was my life's undoing, Though my soul lived on her lips; I'm weary of such binding ties.

You ask about the errors of the men of high degree? Disgrace itself feels shame; I'm weary of their noble lies.

I know you must attend to rivals, that is your excuse, But when did we need reasons? I'm weary of these flimsy lies.

Don't ask, Asad, of life's short promise, fleeting as a breath; The few days I have known, I'm weary of, were filled with apocalyptic cries.