Aankh us pur-jafa se ladti hai

My eye against her cruel and faithless way contends, My soul against the ship of final fate contends.

Why shouldn't flames now leap in wild disarray? The candle, lacking you, with passing wind contends.

My fortune with that stone-heart makes its fated play, The fool, you see, with God himself, it now contends.

O Daughter of the Vine, why this gurgling display? Against the righteous man, your rebel spirit contends.

Those aren't two rows of lashes, I would say; One sweet disaster with its lovely twin contends.

Her glance, upon her lover, finds its artful way; With what disarming, gentle grace it now contends.

Beside your ailing lover's bed, I watch and pray, As at his side, grim Death with every cure contends.

When did this hag, the World, seek peace's tranquil day? This ancient brawler, since the dawn of time, contends.

And ah, my own wild spirit, from love's first foray, Against its own new-smitten, foolish heart contends.

Behold her drunken eye, its mischievous, soft way, When with the most devout of men it, too, contends.

Each drop of blood your killing sword lets fall and spray, Against the fount of endless life itself contends.

O Zauq, 'tis true that "war is but deceitful play," And so her glance with pure and practiced guile contends.