O Zafar, is it a desire to kiss the feet of your slayer that even after being wounded you are so eagerly writhing?

Zafar plays with the classic Urdu poetic trope of the dying lover as a slaughtered bird writhing in the dust. Instead of seeing this agitation as sheer agony, he playfully asks himself if he is fluttering with such desperate zeal just to roll close enough to kiss the beloved's feet. It tenderly transforms the horror of a death throe into an act of boundless devotion, where even the final struggle is directed toward one last touch.