NAQSH FARYADEE HAI KIS KE SHOKHIAY TAHREER KA

Naqsh faryadee hai kiss ke shokhiay tahreer ka
Kaghazee hai pairahan her paikaray tasweer ka

Whose dazzling work, does the impression stricture.
Of paper is the robe,of every figure in the picture.

(This is the first verse of the first poem posted in Ghalib’s ‘divan’ ( collection of poems). The poet’s thought process and the basis of his philosophy are reflected in it. The poet says that ‘ The impression’ – ‘the picture’ or ‘creation’, is questioning, crying out loud, for having been given the brilliance and the joy of being created-- brought into existence and bestowed with the knowledge and consciousness of it. Yet there is lament and pain of awareness because all is temporary and short lived, just like the dress of paper of each figure face in the picture. This, in other words, is the question that humans ask of the Creator.)



Kavay kavay sakht jani hai tanhayee na pooch
Subh karna shaam ka lana hai jooyeh sheer ka

Trial upon trial, torture is life; Ah! of loneliness do not talk.
To go through the night till dawn, Is to dig a milk canal through a rock.


(Life is full of ups and downs, trials and tribulations at every stage, yet each individual has to go through it by himself, all alone. One cannot live anyone’s life nor can another live for someone else. Each has to bear his own burden. So much so that even some thoughts cannot be shared with another, hence the feeling of extreme loneliness. Remember all heights are lonely and the more unique the idea the greater the feeling of isolation.)


Jazba e bay ikhtiaaray shooq dekha chahiyeh
Seenae shamsheer say bahir hai dam shamsheer ka


Watch the spirit of the untamed desire;
Beyond the chest, is the sword’s own ire.


(A desire over which there is no control is akin to a sword whose sharpness is outside of it -- on its edge, not within the body where it may be harnessed or controlled.)


Agahee damay shuneedan jis qadar chahay bichaey
Mudda-ae unqua hai apnay alamay taqreer ka


Spread the sense of awareness to its ultimate extent.
Unique and rare is the topic of my sacrament.


(Here the poet says, however hard one may try to understand, grasp and master his poetry and its philosophy, it will be really difficult to do so for the subject matter he deals with is quite rare, obscure and unique.)

Buskay hoon Ghalib aseere may be aatish zaeray pa
Munh e aatish deeda hai halqa meri zangeer ka

Though incarcerated, O’ Ghalib, Yet have fire under my feet.
Each link of my fetter is like hair, curled with intense heat.


(Although man is imprisoned and cannot escape from the burden of life, yet he is always restless and keeps on trying—questioning and enquiring into the meaning of things. Each link of the chain of life seems to be formed out of hot metal that has curled up like a hair does with intense heat. )