O friend, should one, as beautiful as the moon,
Delight in breaking hearts by playing false in love ?

He plunged into my heart his pointed dart,
Showing no more pity than a swordsman in war.

He shot me from afar, but how could I hide the wound ?
O how beautiful he is, but how cruel his sport !

O archer! Was the forked shaft that pierced my heart
Tongued with fire, or dipped in the deadliest venom ?

What's sliding down his robes may be coils of snakes,
Tresses of hyacinths, or meadows where bulbuls sing !

Lovers in mortal pain take heart when they behold
Those twin breasts - an elixir for ailing souls !

He slipped out by subtle stealth, but I'll seek him out
In his favourite haunts - Pari Mahal, Telbal, Dal or Shalamar.

My lot is tears! Leaving me lonesome and broken, he's gone!
Who knows where ? - Prang or Brang or Drang or Kotahar!

Who has appeared at break of dawn, rattling at the door ?
A thief or a drunk - or could it be sweet-throated Mahjoor?