The world is a children’s playground
before me, Night and Day, this theatre is enacted before me
For me the flying throne of Solomon is a
game, And only talk, the miracles of Christ before me
I acknowledge the face of the universe
as only a name, The substance of reality is but superstition before me, Next to
me, the wilderness is shamed into hiding in dust, The servile river grovels in
the dust before me, Do not ask what my condition is without you Just look at
your own comportment before me, True, I appear consumed by the niceties of
adornment, but of course, An idol mirrors my reflection before me, Then witness
the blossoming manner of speech, Just place a decanter of wine before me, I was
presumed hostile where I am merely jealous, Why should I say do not take that
name before me, Faith retards me, where idols lure me, Kaaba is behind me, the
church is before me, I desire, my craft is to seduce the desired The beloved
Laila insults the lover Majnun before me, Joy prevails, but union need not
signal death, Yearnings of the dark night of my soul came before me, Tears of
blood create oceans of blood, if only this were it, And yet, what unknown fates
must I still behold before me, Even when hands have no movement, sight retains
vitality, So leave the accoutrements of wine before me, He is my comrade, my
confidant, my fellow carouser, Do not speak ill of him, Ghalib is good before
me
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