Tamasha

If they call, what spectacle would it be? If we don't go, what spectacle would it be? These players of games from the shores— If they drown, what spectacle would it be? Those who say we are theirs— If they betray, what spectacle would it be? Your face, which by chance we have Forgotten, what spectacle would it be? Today we too, upon your faithfulness If we smile, what spectacle would it be? The dried flowers of your memories— If we arrange them again, what spectacle would it be? Those who have lost us and sat waiting— If they remember, what spectacle would it be? Master of servants, all that has befallen us— If we tell, what spectacle would it be? Upon the truth, when expediency prevails— If we speak, what spectacle would it be? In this scorching city of sorrow— If we smile, what spectacle would it be? Those lamps from which light is fading— If they go out, what spectacle would it be? A few hours of time is all, Sāghar— If we seize them, what spectacle would it be?