By whose adoring side
You sit on whose arm your lovely hair scatters...
This is all that matters.
Eyes, that my lacking fate has turned into a keen-edged Sword
To pierce and rent my heart...Why O Lord?
Should still sink into my soul,
Possessing all.
Were man to suffer pangs of pain,
Again, and still again,
Even grief would lose its sting.
Of sorrows I've had so full a share,
That now they are almost easy to bear.
If Ghalib still will sorrow thus,
He cannot long remain with us...
Good friends, good fellow creatures, hearken ye,
How poorer far, deserted and denied, this world will be.
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