Ghalib – I ♦
Against which artwork’s colour does the copy complain?
For each picture’s face is a paper covering, plain.
Of the hard soul’s digging — loneliness — ask not!
Like Farhad, carving canals for cream through rough terrain.
Witness for yourself passion’s unfettered zeal:
The scimitar blade drawn out, free from scabbard’s restraint.
Intellect: cast your nets of attention as wide as you will,
Meaning is phoenix-like in my discourse’s domain.
I, Ghalib, may be captured, but in captivity, aflame;
I’ve seen that nought but singed locks are the links of my chains.
صبح کرنا شام کا۔ لانا ہجُوئےشیرکا