His face is the lamp, and this world the shade. Yet he hid himself from the world, vieling his face.

The councilor hasn't seen my ardor's strength Nor has he seen scattered locks across my face.

In all event before my eyes his face. I haven't seen the moon since the night of seperation.

All kinds of beauties had come out on parade. To confess, my stunned eyes were blind to all.

What had happened in the chaos of passion, I don't know. But when I came to, I found in my hand the torn collar.

Translated from the Urdu of Asghar Gondvi's "Zahid ne mera hasil-e-eman nahin dekha" (h/t to Aisha for putting up Abida's rendition here)