O Ghalib, do you remember those days when, in the ecstasy of passion, if salt fell from the wound, I used to pick it up with my eyelashes?

Ghalib looks back fondly at a time when he was so deeply intoxicated by love that he cherished the very pain it inflicted. While salt rubbed into a wound is meant to cause agonizing stinging, in the pure ecstasy of passion, he savored this hurt so intensely that if even a speck of salt slipped away, he would tenderly gather it with his eyelashes. It is a stunning portrayal of love's exquisite paradox, where heartbreak and suffering are treasured like sacred gifts.