My Head and my Knees
If I didn’t cry all the time, my house would still be desolate.
The ocean is huge and empty, just like the desert.
Am I to complain about the narrowness of my heart?
It’s unbelieving; no matter what happened, it would have been confused.
If I were patient for a lifetime, the Doorkeeper would surely let me in.
The doorkeeper of your house could model itself on such a heart.
Before anything, there was God; had there been nothing, there would have been God.
It was because I lived that I died. If I had never lived, what would have become of me?
Sorrow stunned my head; so why should I feel bad about my beheading?
If it hadn’t been detached, it would be resting on my knees anyway.
Ghalib died centuries ago. But we still remember his little questions:
‘What is before?’ ‘Where would I be if I had never been born?’