Hum hain aur shughl-e-ishq-baazi hai

My life is this: the game of love I play. What is real, and what's the fleeting way?

The daughter of the vine, released from where she lay, Now finds her tongue and has so many things to say.

Why watch that nascent shadow in the glass, I pray? It is but Beauty's own most artful, fine display.

The pagan pupil in the arch of your brow's sacred way Has found a holy niche and now has learned to kneel and pray.

The worldly bring their gifts to one who casts the world away; Such is your splendid disregard, the power that you sway.

My teasing idol turns from me and keeps my heart at bay; It is the work of schemers and the wicked games they play.

A wise man spoke the truth, O Zauq, that holds true to this day: The miser's guarded treasure falls to conquerors as prey.