Qasd jab teri ziyarat ka kabhu karte hain

To seek your sacred presence is a vow we hold as true, is what we do, And mirrors with our tears their cleansing rites imbue, is what they do.

Their hidden malice comes to light, revealed for all to view, When praising my own enemy is all the praise that's due, is what they do.

Such is the heart: we mend one tear to make it feel like new, A hundred more rip open and our work is torn anew, is what we do.

We could with one lament shatter the heavens' bowl of blue, But in it, drink our own heart's blood, a bitter, crimson brew, is what we do.

The cypress by the stream stands proud, a self-important view; It has not seen your soul-enchanting grace, it must be true, is what they do.