مر گئے ہیں جو ہجر یار میں ہم

oppressed, in parting from my love, I died

so restless in my grave I now reside

to find place in her heart full of mistrust

I grind myself into misgiving's dust

a hundred times, she came within my clasp,

but self-consumed, myself I couldn't grasp

when, in my rival's path, a thorn was I?

why do I irritate my loved one's eye?

I was trampled in my rival's lane

by her visits there time and again

for heaven's sake, my funeral attend

I have died waiting right to the end

if it's not fear of parting, sheftaa, that I face

why do I writhe restlessly in my lover's embrace?