Before there was, was God's lone breath,
Had naught remained, 'twould still be death's God.
Before there was, was God's lone breath,
Had naught remained, 'twould still be God.
In being, I am drowned in depths,
Unborn, what then would I have trod?
When grief became a boundless sea,
What fear then, of the severed head?
When grief became a boundless sea,
What fear then, of the severed head?
If soul and frame had not been split,
The universe would be my bed.
For ages, Ghalib's gone to dust,
Yet memory still whispers near.
For ages, Ghalib's gone to dust,
Yet memory still whispers near.
He'd muse on every single thing,
"If this were so, then what would steer?"
"If this were so, then what would steer?"
"If this were so, then what would steer?"
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