O Asad, even though I am the garden's silence yearning for a sight of the beloved, my eyelashes are still combing the tresses of speech.

Ghalib paints an exquisite portrait of silent longing, blurring the boundary between sight and speech. Even as he describes himself as utterly still and quiet—like a desolate garden frozen in the desire to glimpse the beloved—his silence remains intensely vocal. His fluttering eyelashes act like a comb running through the locks of conversation, showing that true lovers speak entire volumes without ever parting their lips.