Those Cries That Sound Throughout the Fast

Those cries that sound throughout the fast as for the bowl are all for Thee;
Those songs and roundelays the which the minstrels troll are all for Thee.

O world-illuming Sun, look down for once upon the rose of hope;
Those radiant beauties sheen as dewy aureole are all for Thee.

O King, what though Thou deign'st to honour with Thy face the dervish poor?
Those shouts of Hay! and Hû! that through this convent roll are all for Thee.

Intent to catch the lustrous pearls of Thy dear words those eager ears
That shell-like open wide and list from heart and soul are all for Thee.

All single-handed how to clutch the skirt of my poor heart's desire?
Those cruel dagger-lashes fain to work my dole are all for Thee.

The vines are scattered all around with purpose fair of quaffing wine;
Those shatterings of the cup, those cares to keep it whole, are all for Thee.

The while in Ghalib's walk there be no trace of aught suspicious seen,
Those reverences fore the Elder of the Bowl are all for Thee.