Despite harboring an entire world of tumult, no outward commotion appears; we are like the quiet illumination within the bedchamber of a moth's heart.

Ghalib paints an exquisite picture of profound, self-consuming grief that makes no outward noise. While the moth is famous for silently burning away at the candle, the poet imagines the moth's inner heart harboring an entire blazing festival of lights—a universe of passion and turmoil that remains completely invisible to the outside world. It speaks to that intense, private suffering of love which burns brightly inside, yet never demands an audience.