To know what life truly is,
to truly live, is the first decree.
None have yet escaped this test,
and the valley weeps, eternally.
The season's bloom has taken its own life,
who sowed the powder in the garden's heart?
Let us all don mirrors now,
and each will gaze upon their own face.
All will find beauty here,
in what is not, what hides unseen.
The face reflected on the glass,
the mirror's translation, is untrue.
Ghalib gave us this blessing then,
may you live on for a thousand years,
but these years, they vanish in days.
Your lips, Mir, have witnessed them too,
like a rose petal's tender grace.
If you spoke, you'd become Ghalib,
scattered are the nights and days now,
as if a pearl necklace had snapped,
and you, too, had kept me tethered.
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