Jaada-e-rah khur ko waqt-e-shaam hai taar-e-shuaa

For weary travelers, dusk spins a sunbeam's lace; The sky, with the new moon, forms a farewell embrace.

The candle in the hall is struck with silent awe, Hearing a voice of flame that sanctifies the space.

The peacock feather's core, a slate where colors bloom, For she, the mirror's prayer, invents with newfound grace.

To souls born of deep wonder, candor brings offense; The mirror's polished heart becomes a battle-place.

In all four corners of the world, distraction thrives, And from the loss of reason, thoughts of profit race.

My friends, oh Ghalib, know not heartache's true embrace; Or who would have the strength my tragic tale to face?