This strange thing called love

This strange thing we call love
Of roses and stars and little white doves;
Painted black and white and everything in between
Every hue that colors the dreams of sweet sixteen;

When fluttering lashes and eyes that beguile
meet thudding hearts and bashful smiles,
Unbidden flow,
my hidden tears and lyrical words,
withering in your stormy moods;

Each speak a tale that is its very own,
Etched eternal in hearts that are sworn
to the magic, the mystery, the miracle of the moment!

Look closely and you will find,
buried in the stones, perhaps left far behind;
A lonely sea shell, opening its heart to you
Singing sweet songs just for you!

Hazaron Kwaishe Aisi (Mirza Ghalib)

Desires flood my heart, each stealing my breath away...
And with each escaped wish, they grow more within...

Tales that abound of Eden scorning Adam
Fade when they face my forlorn separation from you

As if love distinguished between life and death!
I live every dying breath, unwavering eyes locked on your furtive glances

Heavens forbid that you disarrange your sacred veil!
Lest they too hide my beloved's face!

A world separates the preacher from drunken merriment;
Yet I (Ghalib) chanced upon him by the tavern

hazaaron Khvaahishen aisii ki har Khvaaish pe dam nikale
bahut nikale mere armaaN lekin phir bhii kam nikale

nikalanaa Khuld se aadam kaa sunate aaye hain lekin
bahut beaabaruu hokar tere kuuche se ham nikale

muhabbat men nahiin hai farq jiine aur marane kaa
usii ko dekh kar jiite hain jis kaafir pe dam nikale

Khudaa ke vaaste pardaa na kaabe se uThaa zaalim
Kahiin aisaa na ho yaaN bhii vahii kaafir sanam nikale

KahaaN maiKhaane ka daravaazaa 'Ghalib' aur kahaaN vaaiz
par itanaa jaanate hain kal vo jaataa thaa ke ham nikale