Lete hi dil jo aashiq-e-dil-soz ka chale

You took the heart that burned for you, and went your way; You came to borrow fire—what a fleeting stay.

You showed me your dark, kohl-lined eyes, and passed me by; And where I sat, you left me in the dust to lie.

You came and drove my heart to deeper madness, then you strayed; Oh, stay a moment—why this fleeting masquerade?

The world’s bright garden offered me no sweet display; With longing in my heart, I kicked up dust and went my way.

You walked with others, leaving footprints where you strayed— What lovely flowers on my waiting grave you’ve laid.

You showed me those deep, languid eyes, and turned to go; And left me like a desert deer, in restless woe.

O Grief, don’t eat me whole this lonely night, I pray; Leave something for your breakfast at the break of day.

Such pride of beauty! Feet that never touch the clay; They move like sunlight, leaving no trace of their way.

What force could drive me from your lane, a breeze so frail? I came to mourn in dust, and left a dusty trail.

Alas, like a bird’s shadow, I am left to stray; The one I walk beside has gone a separate way.

Let go my wrist, physician, turn your gaze aside; The life is gone, how can the pulse have any tide?

My killer, if your heart feels no restraining stay, Why does your dagger halt and stutter on its way?

If to high heaven your slain victim they convey, He’ll still look back toward your house along the way.

The gaze of the pure-hearted, kohl could never stain; They saw the world, and cleanly left its false domain.

A captive to your scented hair since time’s first day, How could the bird of fragrance ever fly away?

Ah, on the swift-horsed steed of life, we made our stay; In this world’s inn, we came and then we went away.

Did you unspool your hair beside the river’s sway? You turned each wave into a black snake, then you went away.

Since birth, I’ve loved the rose-cheeked, and for them I pray; I’ve roamed this world like wind-blown dust, and passed away.

Why blame the killer if my senses start to fray? Like henna’s fading color, they just fly away.

How could they find contentment, who were led astray By all the greed and longing that they took away?

To see that fiery face, then feel the memory’s sway Of your dark hair—is fire, with winds that come to play.

O Zauq, God save us from the beloved’s gaze today; Who can survive the path where fate’s sharp arrows play?