Few, very few, are as roses or tulips returning
Who knows how many faces the dust has been covering!
This eve of parting my eyes let blood-streams,
Two candles have lit up, is what I am thinking.
The stars lie hidden in the light of the day,
What occurs at night, they come out all revealing.
His is the sleep and peace of mind, and he owns the night too,
On whose arms your hair you are spreading.
We are the path-breakers, not bound by traditions,
Our race dies before to Faith it is converting.
O dwellers of the world, if Ghalib weeps well,
You'll see your cities into wilderness turning!