For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river--
Unbearable pain becomes its own cure.

Travel far enough into sorrow, tears turn into sighing;
In this way we learn how water can die into air.

When, after heavy rain, the stormclouds disperse,
Is it not that they've wept themselves clear to the end?

If you want to know the miracle, how wind can polish a mirror,
Look: the shining grass grows green in spring.

It's the rose's unfolding, Ghalib, that creates the desire to see--
In every colour and circumstance, may the eyes be open for what comes.

Image credit: Steven Farmer

Leave a Comment