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My pain is not in potion's debt,
I'm not better, I am not worse.
Why gather ye my rivals here?
It is a private plaint, not a public fest.
Where should I go to try my luck?
When you refuse to raise your axe.
So sweet are your lips that the rival,
When reviled, was not repulsed.
The word is afloat, he comes today,
To day my house is without a rug.
Was it the reign of Nimrod or God?
Why didn't my worship bear effect?
Life was His trust, to Him it was returned,
In sooth, I didn't redeem my trust.
The wound, though masked, continued to bleed,
The plan, when baulked, didn't progress.
I'm not better, I am not worse.
Why gather ye my rivals here?
It is a private plaint, not a public fest.
Where should I go to try my luck?
When you refuse to raise your axe.
So sweet are your lips that the rival,
When reviled, was not repulsed.
The word is afloat, he comes today,
To day my house is without a rug.
Was it the reign of Nimrod or God?
Why didn't my worship bear effect?
Life was His trust, to Him it was returned,
In sooth, I didn't redeem my trust.
The wound, though masked, continued to bleed,
The plan, when baulked, didn't progress.
(Asadullah Khan Ghalib )
Ah! your wall reminds me of demented Ghalib, passion-crazed,
How he used to beat his head against this barricade!
How he used to beat his head against this barricade!
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