A critic lurks in sorrow's heart,
To tell it to, a fate apart.
To tell it to, a hopeless art,
What use to speak, when all depart?
What use to build, when all depart?
A critic lurks in sorrow's heart.
Another walks, your letter held,
As if a secret to be spelled.
Another walks, your letter held,
And if they're asked, the truth concealed?
Concealed it must be, now revealed.
A critic lurks in sorrow's heart.
I call to her, my heart's deep plea,
I call to her, my heart's deep plea,
But oh, my soul, such agony,
A path that yields, she can't be free?
A path that yields, she can't be free?
That she can't come, eternally.
That she can't come, eternally.
A critic lurks in sorrow's heart.
Love holds no force, this fire's might,
Love holds no force, this fire's might,
Oh, Ghalib's flame, a burning plight,
That kindles on, and dims the light.
A critic lurks in sorrow's heart,
To tell it to, a fate apart.
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