Mirza Ghalib was the one of greatest poet in the Indian history. I translated this back in my college days.
I look at the joys of the world, as I look at the dust. Crying used to give me peace but now even my eyes have run dried.
When I am dead, wind might take my dust to my destination. Because now I have no more willpower to keep going.
For whom are these preparations of welcome, who is this lover from the heaven? All I see is flowers, and nothing else.
My love has left me capable of nothing. Now I just wish to live quietly somewhere.
Asad, my poetry is for times past. It is useless to write, when no one understands.