Main dard-e-dil shayari se bayaan karoon to kaise,
Kambakht zaalim ko Urdu bhi nahin aati.
Ghalib ka ghum, Sahir ki kasak,
In pannon mein jo ghulte hain.
Uske husn ki khushboo, mere jaam ka rang,
Ik pal ki jannat mein milte hain
Aankhon ki apni zubaan hoti to
Aaj ye maut nahin aati.
Hum to fakir shaayar hain, meri jaan
Kabhi shehenshah ke reham-o-karam
Pe zinda to kabhi dargah ke.
Silsila ye kismat ka ajeeb maalum hua,
Abbu ki tab suni hoti 'Falaq' ne toh
Ye quayamat kabhi na aati.
How can I express my heartache through poetry,
Bloody tyrant doesn't even speak Urdu.
The sadness of Ghalib, the longing of Sahir,
That dissolve in these pages.
The scent of her body, the colour of my wine,
In just a moment's paradise they meet.
If eyes had tongues of their own,
Death to me would not have come today.
I am a vagabond poet, my love
Sometimes the Emperor's kindness
I live on, and sometimes the mosque's.
How strange this plot of destiny has been revealed,
If only 'Sky' would have heeded his Father back then,
The End Of Times would never have come.
