The poet says that it is a pity for the martyr who, upon entering the battlefield, found that the sword in his own hand was dead (or useless).

This couplet by Mir Taqi Mir speaks of a profound, tragic irony. It's the lament for a martyr whose skill, strength, and very weapon fail at the moment of truth. The warrior's sword, which should be deadly, becomes useless the moment it touches the battlefield. This isn't just about defeat; it's about the sheer futility of sacrifice when fate itself seems to reject the effort. It captures the deepest sorrow of a life given, but without the expected impact.