Har qadam doori-e-manzil hai numayan mujh se

With every step, the goal recedes in vain from me; My very speed makes the whole desert plain flee from me.

The world's display is best seen through a feigned disdain from me; The thread that binds each glance is spun, a fragile chain, from me.

In lonely nights, my heart's fire burns with such a strain from me, That like a wisp of smoke, my shadow flees in pain from me.

May idols never learn the grief that lovers drain from me; The house of mirrors stands an empty, vast domain from me.

The path of madness, by my blisters, burns again from me; A string of pearls, it lights the desert with its chain from me.

If self-loss were a bed of peace, I'd not abstain from me; My private room is filled, a shadow's dark domain, from me.

If for a glimpse, my head were struck and cut in twain from me, My scattered gaze would fall, a snuffed-out flower's stain, from me.

Such lonely dread on nights of parting, a wild strain from me; My shadow hides inside the Judgment sun, to wane, from me.

The turning cup of countless hues—that splendor is from you; The mirror of one awestruck eye that holds it true is from me.

Asad, a fire drips from my hot glance like rain from me; The garden's worthless thorns and weeds are set aflame from me.

To make a vow of love was folly, and insane, from me; The knot of that old promise, like a closed eye, did remain from me.

To light the fire with just one hint—that single spark is from you; To set a hundred cities blazing in the dark is from me.