'VIII

We lean in the full moon as would a circle of gods
passing a window. Together our voices rise in song.

To those below, our lamp is mistaken for a star.
But the true stars lie at the bottom of the bowl.

Her voice spirals to me from the other side of moons.
Her expression tells me of secret springs, jewels,
ice.

How long will I stand alone against broken walls?
Once I watched how a star fell behind her blue gown.

There is no message that will satisfy the mystery I sense.
Even secret letters from my home arrive here torn open.'

--Ghazals of Ghalib (tr William Hunt)


The garden that began my education...