baadam do jo bheje hain batwe mein daal kar

These almonds that you sent, a gift however small, My faith demands I give my eyes and answer to the call.

The heart's not in my chest, so do not search at all, O sigh, present the arrow's note, and answer to the call.

No perfect vessel from the wheel will form at all, So do not waste this heart-dust on the potter's call.

The idols took my life, then made my faith their thrall, My heart, to save itself, stepped back and watched it fall.

Should you, O noble Heart, her image hold in thrall, I'll pluck my eyes and at her feet, I'll let them fall.

With what delight the killer salts my heart's deep gall, O victim, writhe! And by your pain, be worthy of it all.

In love, don't think your heart a friend on whom to call, It will escape, O Zauq, and leave you with its thrall.