Let The Ascetics Sing Of The..

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 the one Face appears

As the sun's splendor would spangle a world 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.