How can one even describe the delicacy of her lips?

They are like a single petal of a rose.

The speaker is struck by the beloved’s refined beauty and finds ordinary language inadequate. By comparing the lips to a rose petal, the couplet conveys softness, freshness, and fragile tenderness. The rhetorical question intensifies wonder, suggesting that this beauty is almost beyond expression.

How can one even describe the delicacy of her lips?

They are like a single petal of a rose.

The speaker is struck by the beloved’s refined beauty and finds ordinary language inadequate. By comparing the lips to a rose petal, the couplet conveys softness, freshness, and fragile tenderness. The rhetorical question intensifies wonder, suggesting that this beauty is almost beyond expression.

Why are you crying on the long road of love?

Go on—keep watching what still lies ahead.

Meer Taqi Meer presents love as a long, demanding journey where early tears are premature. The speaker urges endurance, hinting that harsher trials may come later. The couplet carries a stoic, almost teasing consolation: don’t collapse at the start; love reveals its true cost as one moves forward.

Why are you crying on the long road of love?

Go on—keep watching what still lies ahead.

Meer Taqi Meer presents love as a long, demanding journey where early tears are premature. The speaker urges endurance, hinting that harsher trials may come later. The couplet carries a stoic, almost teasing consolation: don’t collapse at the start; love reveals its true cost as one moves forward.

Every leaf and every little plant knows what I’m going through.

Whether the flower knows it or not, the whole garden surely knows my state.

The speaker’s grief has become so visible that even nature seems aware of it. Each leaf and twig is a witness to the lover’s condition, while the “flower” (the beloved) remains unaware or indifferent. By contrasting the garden’s knowing with the flower’s not knowing, the couplet captures the ache of unreturned attention and public, undeniable sorrow.

Every leaf and every little plant knows what I’m going through.

Whether the flower knows it or not, the whole garden surely knows my state.

The speaker’s grief has become so visible that even nature seems aware of it. Each leaf and twig is a witness to the lover’s condition, while the “flower” (the beloved) remains unaware or indifferent. By contrasting the garden’s knowing with the flower’s not knowing, the couplet captures the ache of unreturned attention and public, undeniable sorrow.

I wish you, too, would meet someone exactly like you.

My real aim is not mere revenge; it is to make you understand the pain you cause.

The speaker’s ‘revenge’ is a moral, ironic wish: that the beloved experiences the same coldness or cruelty from a person just like themselves. By mirroring the beloved’s behavior back to them, the speaker seeks recognition and self-realization rather than harm. The emotional core is wounded love that turns into a desire for the beloved to finally ‘feel’ what the speaker has endured.

I wish you, too, would meet someone exactly like you.

My real aim is not mere revenge; it is to make you understand the pain you cause.

The speaker’s ‘revenge’ is a moral, ironic wish: that the beloved experiences the same coldness or cruelty from a person just like themselves. By mirroring the beloved’s behavior back to them, the speaker seeks recognition and self-realization rather than harm. The emotional core is wounded love that turns into a desire for the beloved to finally ‘feel’ what the speaker has endured.

Meer says: now I am leaving the idol-temple.

We will meet again only if God allows it.

The couplet is a quiet goodbye filled with uncertainty: the speaker departs from the beloved’s place, called a “but-kadah” in the lover’s idiom. By saying “if God brings it about,” he admits that reunion is not in his control but in fate’s hands. The emotional core is a restrained sadness—hope remains, yet it is surrendered to divine will.

Meer says: now I am leaving the idol-temple.

We will meet again only if God allows it.

The couplet is a quiet goodbye filled with uncertainty: the speaker departs from the beloved’s place, called a “but-kadah” in the lover’s idiom. By saying “if God brings it about,” he admits that reunion is not in his control but in fate’s hands. The emotional core is a restrained sadness—hope remains, yet it is surrendered to divine will.

It’s the same for me, for you, even for Meer: we all ended up the same.

All of us became prisoners of her tresses.

Meer Taqi Meer says love levels everyone: speaker, listener, even the poet himself. The beloved’s “tresses” are a metaphor for the snares of beauty that bind the heart. The couplet carries a half-playful, half-resigned tone: no one escapes this captivity. It suggests an inevitable, shared fate in عشق.

It’s the same for me, for you, even for Meer: we all ended up the same.

All of us became prisoners of her tresses.

Meer Taqi Meer says love levels everyone: speaker, listener, even the poet himself. The beloved’s “tresses” are a metaphor for the snares of beauty that bind the heart. The couplet carries a half-playful, half-resigned tone: no one escapes this captivity. It suggests an inevitable, shared fate in عشق.

At the beginning of love, I was like fire—burning and blazing.

Now I am only ash; this is what the end has come to.

The couplet traces love’s journey from fierce passion to total exhaustion. “Fire” stands for the lover’s early intensity and self-consuming ardor, while “ash” signals what remains after the burning—emptiness, ruin, and dissolution of the self. The emotional core is a quiet, bleak acceptance that love’s culmination can be annihilation rather than fulfillment.

At the beginning of love, I was like fire—burning and blazing.

Now I am only ash; this is what the end has come to.

The couplet traces love’s journey from fierce passion to total exhaustion. “Fire” stands for the lover’s early intensity and self-consuming ardor, while “ash” signals what remains after the burning—emptiness, ruin, and dissolution of the self. The emotional core is a quiet, bleak acceptance that love’s culmination can be annihilation rather than fulfillment.

Every plan backfired; no remedy or medicine worked at all.

In the end, this illness of the heart finished the matter—completely.

Meer portrays love and grief as a “heart-illness” that defeats all human effort: strategies fail and cures prove useless. The phrase “finished the matter” suggests total ruin—either the end of hope, the end of the self, or even death-like finality. The emotional core is helpless surrender before an inner pain that becomes fate itself.

Every plan backfired; no remedy or medicine worked at all.

In the end, this illness of the heart finished the matter—completely.

Meer portrays love and grief as a “heart-illness” that defeats all human effort: strategies fail and cures prove useless. The phrase “finished the matter” suggests total ruin—either the end of hope, the end of the self, or even death-like finality. The emotional core is helpless surrender before an inner pain that becomes fate itself.

Even breathe softly, because the matter is extremely delicate.

This whole universe is like a glassmaker’s workshop, where everything can crack.

Meer Taqi Meer portrays the world as a fragile glass workshop: a place of beauty, but easily shattered. The advice to “breathe softly” is a metaphor for living with extreme care, because a small disturbance can cause harm. The couplet carries a quiet awe and anxiety—existence is precious, yet breakable. It urges mindfulness in speech, action, and desire within a delicate cosmos.

Even breathe softly, because the matter is extremely delicate.

This whole universe is like a glassmaker’s workshop, where everything can crack.

Meer Taqi Meer portrays the world as a fragile glass workshop: a place of beauty, but easily shattered. The advice to “breathe softly” is a metaphor for living with extreme care, because a small disturbance can cause harm. The couplet carries a quiet awe and anxiety—existence is precious, yet breakable. It urges mindfulness in speech, action, and desire within a delicate cosmos.

Don’t think I am something ordinary; the heavens keep turning for years.

Only then do true humans emerge from the veil of dust.

Meer warns against taking a person lightly. “The sky turning for years” suggests long, hidden processes of time and fate, while “the veil of dust” points to humble earthly origins. The couplet says real humanity and excellence are not cheaply made; they are formed slowly through hardship and time. Its emotional core is dignity tempered with humility: from dust, but after a long shaping.

Don’t think I am something ordinary; the heavens keep turning for years.

Only then do true humans emerge from the veil of dust.

Meer warns against taking a person lightly. “The sky turning for years” suggests long, hidden processes of time and fate, while “the veil of dust” points to humble earthly origins. The couplet says real humanity and excellence are not cheaply made; they are formed slowly through hardship and time. Its emotional core is dignity tempered with humility: from dust, but after a long shaping.

Meer is so simple: the very one who caused his illness is the reason he fell sick.

Yet he goes to that same apothecary’s boy to ask for a cure.

The couplet uses the metaphor of illness and medicine for love and its pain. Meer mocks his own naivety: he keeps turning for relief to the same source connected with his hurt. The “apothecary’s boy” hints at the beloved (or their circle) who both wounds and is expected to heal. The emotional core is ironic self-awareness mixed with helpless dependence.

Meer is so simple: the very one who caused his illness is the reason he fell sick.

Yet he goes to that same apothecary’s boy to ask for a cure.

The couplet uses the metaphor of illness and medicine for love and its pain. Meer mocks his own naivety: he keeps turning for relief to the same source connected with his hurt. The “apothecary’s boy” hints at the beloved (or their circle) who both wounds and is expected to heal. The emotional core is ironic self-awareness mixed with helpless dependence.

Meer, stop indulging in her memory so much; it isn’t that sweet or worth it.

Foolish one, once you cherish it again, she won’t be forgotten from the heart.

The speaker scolds his own heart: don’t beautify the beloved’s memory. Yet he knows the trap—returning to that remembrance makes it cling tighter, beyond one’s control. The couplet captures the contradiction of love: trying to forget only deepens attachment. Its emotional core is regret mixed with helpless longing.

Meer, stop indulging in her memory so much; it isn’t that sweet or worth it.

Foolish one, once you cherish it again, she won’t be forgotten from the heart.

The speaker scolds his own heart: don’t beautify the beloved’s memory. Yet he knows the trap—returning to that remembrance makes it cling tighter, beyond one’s control. The couplet captures the contradiction of love: trying to forget only deepens attachment. Its emotional core is regret mixed with helpless longing.

In this world, live either in sorrow or in happiness—however your fate turns out.

But before you leave from here, do something so meaningful that you are long remembered.

Meer Taqi Meer contrasts life’s shifting states—grief and joy—with the one enduring demand: purposeful action. The couplet suggests emotions come and go, but what truly matters is leaving a mark. “Walking from here” hints at life’s departure, so the speaker urges deeds that outlast the self. The emotional core is a sober, motivating call to make one’s life memorable through meaningful work.

In this world, live either in sorrow or in happiness—however your fate turns out.

But before you leave from here, do something so meaningful that you are long remembered.

Meer Taqi Meer contrasts life’s shifting states—grief and joy—with the one enduring demand: purposeful action. The couplet suggests emotions come and go, but what truly matters is leaving a mark. “Walking from here” hints at life’s departure, so the speaker urges deeds that outlast the self. The emotional core is a sober, motivating call to make one’s life memorable through meaningful work.

There were many beautiful things—flowers, roses, the sun, and the moon.

Yet among all of them, the one I liked most was you.

The couplet sets up a whole universe of admired beauties—nature and the heavens—then quietly overturns it by choosing the beloved above all. Flowers and celestial bodies become metaphors for different forms of beauty and attraction, but none compares to the beloved’s pull. The emotional core is devoted preference: in a world full of wonders, the heart singles out one person as supreme.

There were many beautiful things—flowers, roses, the sun, and the moon.

Yet among all of them, the one I liked most was you.

The couplet sets up a whole universe of admired beauties—nature and the heavens—then quietly overturns it by choosing the beloved above all. Flowers and celestial bodies become metaphors for different forms of beauty and attraction, but none compares to the beloved’s pull. The emotional core is devoted preference: in a world full of wonders, the heart singles out one person as supreme.

Meer wanders around disgraced; no one even asks after him.

In this love, even the honor of being a Sayyid has been lost.

Meer portrays love as a force that strips a person of dignity and social standing. He is so ruined that people ignore him entirely, and the phrase “honor of the Sayyids” heightens the fall from inherited respectability to public disgrace. The emotional core is bitter self-awareness: love has made him both helpless and socially erased.

Meer wanders around disgraced; no one even asks after him.

In this love, even the honor of being a Sayyid has been lost.

Meer portrays love as a force that strips a person of dignity and social standing. He is so ruined that people ignore him entirely, and the phrase “honor of the Sayyids” heightens the fall from inherited respectability to public disgrace. The emotional core is bitter self-awareness: love has made him both helpless and socially erased.

Why ask now about Meer’s faith and religion—he has already changed his path.

He has marked his forehead and sat in a temple; he abandoned Islam long ago.

The couplet mocks the very question of the poet’s religious identity, because his actions already declare it. The “temple” and the “tilak-like mark” stand as symbols of crossing boundaries and adopting the beloved’s world. At heart it is an intense, defiant love that overturns conventional labels of faith. The tone is both ironic and resigned: the shift has happened long before anyone started asking.

Why ask now about Meer’s faith and religion—he has already changed his path.

He has marked his forehead and sat in a temple; he abandoned Islam long ago.

The couplet mocks the very question of the poet’s religious identity, because his actions already declare it. The “temple” and the “tilak-like mark” stand as symbols of crossing boundaries and adopting the beloved’s world. At heart it is an intense, defiant love that overturns conventional labels of faith. The tone is both ironic and resigned: the shift has happened long before anyone started asking.

Love, Meer says, is like a heavy stone.

How can someone as weak as you ever lift it?

Meer turns love into a physical weight: a stone that must be carried or raised. Addressing himself (or a frail lover), he admits human weakness before the demands of عشق. The couplet’s pain lies in the gap between the enormity of love and the lover’s limited strength, making love feel like an impossible burden.

Love, Meer says, is like a heavy stone.

How can someone as weak as you ever lift it?

Meer turns love into a physical weight: a stone that must be carried or raised. Addressing himself (or a frail lover), he admits human weakness before the demands of عشق. The couplet’s pain lies in the gap between the enormity of love and the lover’s limited strength, making love feel like an impossible burden.

Since evening, I’ve been feeling dim and lifeless.

My heart has become like a poor man’s lamp.

The speaker describes an inner dimness that begins with evening, a time often linked with loneliness. The heart is compared to a poor man’s lamp: it gives a weak, unsteady light and is always close to going out because it lacks oil. Through this metaphor, Meer Taqi Meer conveys emotional depletion—love and life feel underfunded, fragile, and fading.

Since evening, I’ve been feeling dim and lifeless.

My heart has become like a poor man’s lamp.

The speaker describes an inner dimness that begins with evening, a time often linked with loneliness. The heart is compared to a poor man’s lamp: it gives a weak, unsteady light and is always close to going out because it lacks oil. Through this metaphor, Meer Taqi Meer conveys emotional depletion—love and life feel underfunded, fragile, and fading.

Don’t speak near Meer’s pillow; let him be.

He has only just fallen asleep after crying for a long time.

The speaker asks for silence at Meer’s bedside, suggesting a person so overwhelmed by sorrow that even rest comes only after tears. Sleep here is a fragile refuge, and the request not to speak becomes an act of tenderness. The couplet captures grief’s exhaustion and the humane impulse to protect someone’s hard-won calm.

Don’t speak near Meer’s pillow; let him be.

He has only just fallen asleep after crying for a long time.

The speaker asks for silence at Meer’s bedside, suggesting a person so overwhelmed by sorrow that even rest comes only after tears. Sleep here is a fragile refuge, and the request not to speak becomes an act of tenderness. The couplet captures grief’s exhaustion and the humane impulse to protect someone’s hard-won calm.

There is no charm in a plain ‘yes’ like there is in a ‘no’.

Passion rises when the beloved keeps saying “no, no.”

The couplet celebrates the paradox of love: refusal can feel more alluring than consent. The beloved’s repeated “no” is read as playful coyness, not final rejection, and that very resistance intensifies longing. The emotional core is how desire feeds on delay, uncertainty, and the beloved’s teasing denial.

There is no charm in a plain ‘yes’ like there is in a ‘no’.

Passion rises when the beloved keeps saying “no, no.”

The couplet celebrates the paradox of love: refusal can feel more alluring than consent. The beloved’s repeated “no” is read as playful coyness, not final rejection, and that very resistance intensifies longing. The emotional core is how desire feeds on delay, uncertainty, and the beloved’s teasing denial.

Why even speak of the heart’s ruin and emptiness?

This city has been plundered a hundred times already.

The heart is imagined as a city repeatedly raided by sorrow. After so many losses, the speaker feels that mentioning its desolation is pointless, because devastation has become the norm. The exaggeration “a hundred times” conveys the long, repetitive history of pain and the numb resignation that follows.

Why even speak of the heart’s ruin and emptiness?

This city has been plundered a hundred times already.

The heart is imagined as a city repeatedly raided by sorrow. After so many losses, the speaker feels that mentioning its desolation is pointless, because devastation has become the norm. The exaggeration “a hundred times” conveys the long, repetitive history of pain and the numb resignation that follows.

Meer must be lying somewhere in the shade of a wall, worn out.

What connection can that comfort-seeking person have with love?

The speaker paints Meer as someone collapsed in a wall’s shadow—an image of exhaustion and defeat. Then comes a sharp, ironic question: a true lover is supposed to be restless, not hunting for ease. The couplet contrasts love’s burning intensity with the desire for comfort, suggesting that seeking “rest” betrays the claims of passion.

Meer must be lying somewhere in the shade of a wall, worn out.

What connection can that comfort-seeking person have with love?

The speaker paints Meer as someone collapsed in a wall’s shadow—an image of exhaustion and defeat. Then comes a sharp, ironic question: a true lover is supposed to be restless, not hunting for ease. The couplet contrasts love’s burning intensity with the desire for comfort, suggesting that seeking “rest” betrays the claims of passion.

How can I even tell you what love really is?

Love is a sickness of the soul, a calamity that falls upon one.

Meer Taqi Meer presents love as something beyond easy definition, so overwhelming that words fail. The metaphor shifts love from romance to affliction: a disease that grips one’s very life. Calling it a “calamity” conveys inevitability and ruin, yet also the helpless surrender of the lover. The emotional core is awe mixed with pain: love as an irresistible, destructive force.

How can I even tell you what love really is?

Love is a sickness of the soul, a calamity that falls upon one.

Meer Taqi Meer presents love as something beyond easy definition, so overwhelming that words fail. The metaphor shifts love from romance to affliction: a disease that grips one’s very life. Calling it a “calamity” conveys inevitability and ruin, yet also the helpless surrender of the lover. The emotional core is awe mixed with pain: love as an irresistible, destructive force.

It’s unfair to accuse us helpless ones of having any real choice or control.

You do whatever you want, yet you uselessly make us look guilty and infamous.

Meer Taqi Meer’s couplet protests a cruel reversal of responsibility: the powerless are blamed for “free will” while the powerful act as they please. The speaker says they have no agency, yet are charged with autonomy to justify punishment or scorn. The emotional core is hurt and indignation at being made a scapegoat for someone else’s decisions, and at needless defamation.

It’s unfair to accuse us helpless ones of having any real choice or control.

You do whatever you want, yet you uselessly make us look guilty and infamous.

Meer Taqi Meer’s couplet protests a cruel reversal of responsibility: the powerless are blamed for “free will” while the powerful act as they please. The speaker says they have no agency, yet are charged with autonomy to justify punishment or scorn. The emotional core is hurt and indignation at being made a scapegoat for someone else’s decisions, and at needless defamation.

All night long, I keep wandering around in tears.

Now this is the only “work” I have left in life.

The speaker’s sorrow has become so constant that it fills the entire night, leaving no room for rest or relief. Calling weeping a “livelihood” is a bitter metaphor: grief has turned into routine, almost like a profession. The couplet captures exhaustion, loneliness, and a resigned acceptance of pain as the new normal.

All night long, I keep wandering around in tears.

Now this is the only “work” I have left in life.

The speaker’s sorrow has become so constant that it fills the entire night, leaving no room for rest or relief. Calling weeping a “livelihood” is a bitter metaphor: grief has turned into routine, almost like a profession. The couplet captures exhaustion, loneliness, and a resigned acceptance of pain as the new normal.

In a state of losing myself, I don’t know where I have been carried away.

My own self has been waiting for me for a long time.

The couplet presents self-forgetfulness as a force that makes the speaker lose direction and sense of identity. The striking metaphor is that “I” has become separated from “myself,” as if the real self stands elsewhere, waiting. It expresses regret and inner emptiness after being swept away by passion, grief, or intoxication. The emotional core is alienation from one’s own being and a late realization of what was left behind.

In a state of losing myself, I don’t know where I have been carried away.

My own self has been waiting for me for a long time.

The couplet presents self-forgetfulness as a force that makes the speaker lose direction and sense of identity. The striking metaphor is that “I” has become separated from “myself,” as if the real self stands elsewhere, waiting. It expresses regret and inner emptiness after being swept away by passion, grief, or intoxication. The emotional core is alienation from one’s own being and a late realization of what was left behind.

My life is devoted even to your unfaithfulness.

It would have been true torment if you had been faithful.

The couplet builds an ironic paradox: the lover is so accustomed to pain that even the beloved’s betrayal feels lovable and familiar. If the beloved were loyal, that would create a different, unbearable intensity—perhaps because true closeness would demand responsibility or expose the lover’s own helpless dependence. The emotional core is self-destructive devotion, where suffering has become the very form of love.

My life is devoted even to your unfaithfulness.

It would have been true torment if you had been faithful.

The couplet builds an ironic paradox: the lover is so accustomed to pain that even the beloved’s betrayal feels lovable and familiar. If the beloved were loyal, that would create a different, unbearable intensity—perhaps because true closeness would demand responsibility or expose the lover’s own helpless dependence. The emotional core is self-destructive devotion, where suffering has become the very form of love.