Love is for those whose intellect knows nothing but us, who are unaware of both disgrace and destruction.

This profound couplet speaks to the agony of unreciprocated knowledge. Mir Taqi Mir suggests that true love is reserved for the intellect—the mind—that understands every facet of existence, except for the lover's own reality. The beloved knows everything, the 'nā-nāz' (the coy, the delicate), and the 'nā-būd' (the non-existent), yet somehow remains oblivious to the depth of the heart watching them. It is the pain of being seen only as a peripheral detail.