O giver of wounds to my heart and breast, without you, even a garden of tulips feels like a wilderness of fire.

The poet calls out to the beloved with tender longing, addressing them bittersweetly as the one who gifted wounds to his aching heart. In classical Urdu poetry, blooming red tulips often mirror both fresh scars and smoldering embers. Without the beloved's soothing presence, the beauty of a blossoming garden loses all its joy and feels instead like a terrifying wilderness of fire. It captures how intense inner sorrow can transform even the most enchanting sights into a reflection of one's own burning grief.