Only love has brought us to the world:
Beauty finds itself, and we are found.
All time, all places, call - here, not here:
no mirror finds the truth but in itself.
To know - what do we know? To worship -
emptiness takes us into its craving.
Any trace, glimpse, whatever flickers -
that's all we have, known or not known.
Held by the word, targeted here in openness,
Earth receives the sky bent forever in greeting.
Translated from Urdu by William Stafford
from Poems by Ghalib (1969).
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