bāzīcha-e-atfāl hai duniyā mire aage
hotā hai shab-o-roz tamāshā mire aage
just like a child’s playground this world appears to me
every single night and day, this spectacle I see
ik khel hai aurañg-e-sulaimāñ mire nazdīk
ik baat hai ejāz-e-masīhā mire aage
the throne of mighty Solomon’s a trifle merely
the Messiah’s miracle’s just another thing to me
juz naam nahīñ sūrat-e-ālam mujhe manzūr
juz vahm nahīñ hastī-e-ashiyā mire aage
except in name the world exists, I do not agree
and objects of this life cannot but a delusion be
hotā hai nihāñ gard meñ sahrā mire hote
ghistā hai jabīñ ḳhaak pe dariyā mire aage
deserts are interned in sand in my presence see
rivers rub their foreheads in dust in front of me
mat pūchh ki kyā haal hai merā tire pīchhe
tū dekh ki kyā rañg hai terā mire aage
ask not, in your absence, what my state is apt to be
you see your own condition when you’re in front of me
sach kahte ho ḳhud-bīn o ḳhud-ārā huuñ na kyuuñ huuñ
baiThā hai but-e-ā.ina-sīmā mire aage
’tis true I preen, why should I not, self indulgently?
when the beauty, mirror-faced, sits in front of me
phir dekhiye andāz-e-gul-afshānī-e-guftār
rakh de koī paimāna-e-sahbā mire aage
only then, my eloquence, will you chance to see
let first a cup of wine be placed there in front of me
nafrat kā gumāñ guzre hai maiñ rashk se guzrā
kyūñkar kahūñ lo naam na un kā mire aage
I refrain from envy lest it’s deemed antipathy
how can I ask anyone “don’t speak of her to me”?
īmāñ mujhe roke hai jo khīñche hai mujhe kufr
ka.aba mire pīchhe hai kalīsā mire aage
faith restrains me while I am tugged at by heresy
behind me stands the mosque, the church in front of me
āshiq huuñ pa māshūq-farebī hai mirā kaam
majnūñ ko burā kahtī hai lailā mire aage
Though a lover I seduce my loved ones craftily
Laila speaks ill of Majnuu.n when in front of me
ḳhush hote haiñ par vasl meñ yuuñ mar nahīñ jaate
aa.ī shab-e-hijrāñ kī tamannā mire aage
although in union happy you don’t die of ecstacy
the wish for night of separation comes in front of me
hai maujzan ik qulzum-e-ḳhūñ kaash yahī ho
aatā hai abhī dekhiye kyā kyā mire aage
if only did this ocean of blood rage relentlessly
what else lies in store for me I have yet to see
go haath ko jumbish nahīñ āñkhoñ meñ to dam hai
rahne do abhī sāġhar-o-mīnā mire aage
let the cup and flask of wine remain in front of me
though my hands are motionless, my eyes as yet can see
ham-pesha o ham-mashrab o hamrāz hai merā
‘ġhālib’ ko burā kyuuñ kaho achchhā mire aage
colleague, coimbiber and my confidante is he
tell me why you criticize Ghalib in front of me
