Har ek baat pe kehte ho tum ke tu kya hai

To every word I say, you ask, "and what are you?" Then tell me, this style of discourse—pray, what is true?

No flame has such a wonder, no lightning such a hue; Then tell me of that fiery wit—pray, what is true?

My envy is he gets to share his words with you; Or else this fear of rival's taint—pray, what is true?

My shirt now clings to me, with blood glued through and through; For this torn collar, the need to mend—pray, what is true?

Where the body burned, the heart must have burned down too; To sift now through the ashes, this searching—pray, what is true?

I'm not convinced by blood that merely courses through; If it won't fall from the eye as a tear—pray, what is true?

That one thing for which we hold paradise in view, Besides the rose-hued, musk-scented wine—pray, what is true?

If I'm to drink, then let me see a cask or two; These flasks and cups and goblets small—pray, what is true?

The strength for speech is gone; and if it were renewed, On what hope could I state my desire—pray, what is true?

He's now the King's companion, and struts with airs askew; Or else what honor has Ghalib in the city—pray, what is true?