There was nothing in my house for your sorrow to destroy; only that longing to build a home, which I once harbored, still remains.

Ghalib captures his inner desolation with a blend of wry irony and profound acceptance. He tells the beloved that the sorrow of her love could hardly wreck his home, because his life was already stripped bare and held nothing left to ruin. The only thing he ever truly possessed was an unfulfilled longing to rebuild and create a world of his own—and ironically, that quiet, resilient longing is the one thing grief could not destroy.