"The heart is asunder, singed to a kebab, This love has been the disaster of my life. My murder rests good on you, don’t worry, You have found grace, I am away from strife. “Enamoured” one day, “mad” on another, Each day I was given new names, new life. Why should I not drink my blood in envy? When today, with my rival they wine. The goblet’s lips kissed yours in ecstasy, My victory was to bite into mine. For you, I wandered streets with tearful eyes, Setting my heart on you was misery. We have washed your street with a storm of tears, Our begging bowl of a cap is now empty. Without replies now, this is what we found, That the messenger is our sole reply. Had asked for your picture to console my heart, Looking at it I am more uneasy. Your tyranny — boundless, day of reck’ning —one, I wonder how the account is compiled. Zafar, change the refrain, recite that ghazal, Of which each verse is your picked poetry."