Thy footsteps, in desert sands, are where to our famished gaze
Iram resurrected stands, its rose beds all ablaze.
That Beauty's mole miss kiss her lip, must so trouble and amaze
Reason we now let slip & Reality e'en lower appraise.
Tho' the rapture of your beholding mere human havoc plays
Yet less Cosmic is the tumult, Doomsday itself displays.
To find the Ninja who, by dark, attacks, foils Day's detective rays
For, fleeing my heart, assassin tracks, Night as its Sun assays.
Now lost to her own looking glass, alas! her not the spectacle sways
Of her lovers as lost to a mirrored, for, but blind alley, maze.
In a goliard's tuneful tatters, cloak, Ghalib, Thought's gilded lays
For Princes now are paupers & only tadpoles croak thy praise.