It is just a heart, a stone and brick, why then,
Does pain come to fill it, again and again?
We will weep a thousand times, though none can see,
Why should we weep, when they hurt us so freely?
Prisoner of self, or bound by grief's chain,
Both are one, in this endless rain.
Before death arrives, why would a soul find release,
From sorrow's dark grasp, a fragile peace?
It is just a heart, a stone and brick, why then,
Does pain come to fill it, again and again?
We will weep a thousand times, though none can see,
Why should we weep, when they hurt us so freely?
Ghalib, with a broken heart, what task remains undone?
Ghalib, with a broken heart, what victory won?
Weeping and wailing, in despair's embrace,
What is the use, in this desolate space?
It is just a heart, a stone and brick, why then,
Does pain come to fill it, again and again?
We will weep a thousand times, though none can see,
Why should we weep, when they hurt us so freely?
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