To put my lips to yours and die-
this is my whole desire!
To tell one's love,
the telling must posses a certain charm.
Unless I pass through the Kaba, I see nothing.
I set out to journey from
the temple, looking backwards all the way.
Into my breast, into my heart,
you made your way and still
The glance that stirs men's love for you
Stirs mine and stirs it still.
Your wrath, your kindness-
I can no more tell
one from the other
The charm that kills men's
intellect killed mine and
kills mine still
Still drunk with last night's wine, my love-
and I would die for you
The sight of your unsteady gait
Charmed me and charms me still
You have not turned to God,
and that sarcastic wit of yours
which used to mock at Judgement Day
is mocking at it still
-Ghalib, translated by Ralph Russell