Hujoom-e-naala-e-hairat aajiz-e-arz-e-yak-afghaan hai

A flood of sighs leaves wonder helpless to complain; My silence, from a hundred reeds, now bites a straw in vain.

Forget her airs; her cruel grace is a known, killing chain; A single, unveiled glance of pride—a naked sword, and I am slain.

Such a surfeit of grief has destroyed all joy's domain; The dawn of Eid brings sharper grief than tearing clothes in pain.

If you would trade with Saki, bring your heart and faith to gain The cup—for in this market, it's a prize passed round in vain.

Grief cradles its own lover in calamity's domain; My soul, a lamp of coral, thrives within the storm-tossed main.

Your formal airs just advertise a shame you can't contain; My bloodied heart on hennaed hands lies naked and quite plain.

O Asad, the heart finds peace when lost to self, a truth made plain; Awareness of two worlds is but the fabric of a dream's mad strain.

The effort's sweat makes wine's ascent a more resplendent reign; From Saki's cheek to the cup's rim, a line of light does drain.

My heart, in its desire to show, was rendered worthless, plain; A mirror showing rose and bloom in the blind's land is vain.

The spectacle is drunk, unheeding, though the heart is plain; The mirror's still a private space for tangled lashes' reign.

Forget all form, and summon up Zulaikha's loving pain, Or else the dream of his embrace will scatter once again.