If no blood remains in my heart, then what's surprising? (Because) every one of my fingers writhes like a fish out of water.

Ah, my friend, have you ever felt completely, utterly drained, as if your very essence has run dry? Ghalib asks, "What's surprising if there's no blood (ख़ूँ) left in my heart?" He speaks not literally, but of a spirit so parched, so emptied by sorrow or fervent longing. Then comes this vivid image: "Every finger (अंगुश्त) writhes (तड़पती) like a fish without water (माही-ए-बे-आब)." Imagine a 'fish without water' – gasping, thrashing, experiencing an agonizing struggle for survival on dry land. It’s the desperate fight of every last part of you, your fingers, your very being, for a breath of life. It’s that profound, desperate yearning, that constant battle for existence when everything feels lost. Ghalib knew this agony well, having faced immense personal loss and hardship throughout his life. His words are a testament to the soul's deepest cry, finding poetry even in its most profound, parched moments.