Just as my heart was torn into pieces all on its own, could even fine linen cloth ever be torn in such a manner?

In classical Urdu poetry, there is a legendary motif that fine linen (katān) is so delicate it tears spontaneously when exposed to the full moon. The poet draws on this tender metaphor to say that even that famed fabric couldn't possibly rip apart as utterly as his heart did, entirely on its own. It captures the sheer depth of an unexpressed, internal grief—a heart shattering from its own sorrow without any visible, external blow.