Ek sadma dard-e-dil se meri jaan par toh hai
19th Century Sheikh Ibrahim Zauq UrduA blow of heartache strikes me to the core; But on her knee my head rests evermore, at least.
Her coming promises a judgment day to see; The news that she will come was heard before, at least.
The martyr's head adorns my lover's spear; The tree of faith bears fruit I've waited for, at least.
Like a weeping candle, what a strange employ; The night gets spent this way, and asks no more, at least.
There is no friend to share this pain I feel; A fire burns within my very core, at least.
O heart, don't shrink from this great crowd of grief; You ruined one, a guest is at your door, at least.
On this scorched lover's tomb, no lamps will burn; A scar of love is what the heart is for, at least.
Whatever she has said when I'm away, She falls to silence when I stand before, at least.
Her sword, for me, is a ship on sorrow's sea; It ferries me to the opposing shore, at least.
O Zauq, a heart that has no fire of love Is worse than stone, which has a fiery core, at least.