Mirza Ghalib (1797-1869)
Son of Mary, let there be someone;
Would someone cure my pain as well?
Given that the constitution and religious law bind us,
But what shall one do with a murderer like that?
The gait like an arrow shot from a fully strung bow;
In a heart like that, how could one create a place for oneself?
There is a rude interruption at everything said.
She would rather talk and everyone would just listen.
I do not know what I am babbling in my frenzy.
O! God, I only hope no one will understand it.
Listen not, if someone would call you bad;
Say nothing, if one does wrong to you.
Stop him, if one goes on a wrong path.
Forgive him, if one makes a blunder.
Who is there that is not a needy one?
Who can fulfill the needs of anyone?
What was it that Khizr did to Alexander?
Now whom can we accept as our guide?
When all hope is gone, Ghalib,
Why should one complain to someone?