Bazm mein zikr mera lab pe woh laaye to sahi

Let her but speak my name, a whispered, soft design, I'll know the instant that her lips break their straight line.

Let stones be hurled at us, a cruel and sharp design, Your madmen welcome it; we'll take it as a sign.

She will not join my bier, but to my grave she'll go; Why should I mourn? Her coming there would be divine.

They ask how I will scale her wall, a foolish, vain design; I'd cut my feet, if she would make her toe a sacred shrine.

Torn pages of my heart's Quran, a scattered, sad design, Were found beneath your feet—thank God you made them thine.

She won't unveil herself upon her balcony's design; If only through the door's small crack her eyes would meet with mine.

The sky can make the moon expand or watch its light decline; But let Fate try to shrink this night of grief that's solely mine.

One single cry of mine will spark a hundred dooms divine, If Judgment's trumpet dares to break this sleeping peace of mine.

Torn pages of my heart's Quran, a scattered, sad design, Were found beneath your feet—thank God you made them thine.

O Zauq, you have escaped her hair, that calamitous design, When once its tangles held you fast, a fate you deemed divine.