shauk har rang raqibe sar o saama nikla
kais tasveer ke parde mein bhi uriyan nikla
zakham ne daad n di tangi ae dil ki yaarab
teer bhi seen ae bismil se par afshaa nikla
shauk har rang raqibe sar o saama nikla

buae gul naale dil dude chirage mahfil
jo tiri bazm se nikla so prishaan nikla
jo tiri bazm se nikla so prishaan nikla
dil mein phir giriye ne ik shor uthaya gaalib
aah jo katar n nikla tha so tufaa nikla
shauk har rang raqibe sar o saama nikla

Desire, in every hue, a rival of the head and wealth, it seemed,
A form unveiled, even within the canvas’s seam.
The wound gave no praise, for the heart's tight squeeze, O Lord,
Even the arrow, from the slain one’s breast, a feathering stream.
Desire, in every hue, a rival of the head and wealth, it seemed.

The fragrance of the rose, the sighing heart, the lamp's smoke in the hall,
Whoever left your gathering, dishevelled, it appeared.
Whoever left your gathering, dishevelled, it appeared.
In the heart, weeping raised a clamor, Ghalib, once more,
The sigh that would not fall as a tear, arose a hurricane, it appeared.
Desire, in every hue, a rival of the head and wealth, it seemed.