Let the ascetics sing of the garden of paradise__
we who dwell in the true ecstasy can forget their vase-tamed bouquet
in our hall of mirrors, the map of one face appears
as the sun’s magnificence would bauble a word made of dew
hidden in this image is also its end
as peasants’ lives, harbor revolt and unthreshed corn sparks with fire
hidden in my silence are a thousand abandoned longings
my words the darkened oil lamp on a stranger’s unspeaking grave
ghalib the road of change is before you always
the only line stitching this world’s scattered parts