Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib, a 19th century Indian poet, spent most of his life in Delhi, writing more than 235 ghazals in Urdu. The following translations are by Robert Bly and Sunil Dutta.
Since nothing actually exists except You,
Then why do I keep hearing all this noise?
These magnificent women with their beauty astound me.
Their side-glances, their eyebrows, how does all that work?
What is it?
These palm trees and these tulips, where did they come from?
What purpose do they serve? What are clouds and wind?
We hope for faithfulness and loyalty from people.
But people don't have the faintest idea what loyalty is.
Good rises from good actions, and that is good.
Beyond that, wheat else do saints and good people say?
I am willing to give up my breath and my life for you,
Even though I don't know the first thing about sacrifice.
The abundant objects of the world mean nothing at all!
But if the wine is free, how could Ghalib hang back?
One can sigh, but a lifetime is needed to finish it.
We'll die before we see the tangles in your hair loosened.
There are dangers in waves, in hundreds of crocodiles with their jaws.
The drop of water goes through many difficulties before it becomes
a pearl.
Love requires waiting, but desire doesn't want to wait.
The heart has no patience; it would rather bleed to death.
I know you will respond when you understand the state of my soul,
But I'll probably become earth before all that becomes clear to you.
When the sun arrives the dew on the petal passes through existence.
I am also me until your kind eye catches sight of me.
How long is our life? How long does an eyelash flutter?
The warmth of a poetry gathering is like a single spark.
Oh Ghalib, the sorrows of existence, what can cure them
but death?
There are so many colors in the candle flame, and then
the day comes.