We also believe that Ghalib's pen used to scatter fire in poetry, but what life or strength is left in it now?

Here, Ghalib looks back at his own legendary genius with an intimate mix of self-awareness and quiet melancholy. He graciously admits that his pen once scattered brilliant sparks across the poetic world, yet he gently wonders if that fierce vitality still breathes in his aging verses. It captures an artist poignantly confronting the passing of his prime, honoring his glorious fire while feeling the inevitable chill of time.