O Asad, the madness-inducing cries are tied to the season of flowers. My river-like weeping eye is the garden-master's drain-spout.

My dear friend, Ghalib, in his youth as 'Asad', often grappled with a sorrow so profound... ...that he felt his 'despair-inducing cries' – those deep 'wahshat-afza girya-ha' – weren't merely tied to spring. No, this isn't just a fleeting sadness; it's a constant companion, woven into the very fabric of his being. Then, he offers a striking image: his eyes, shedding rivers of tears, are but 'meezab' – the spouts... ...of the 'sarkar-e-chaman' – the master of the garden. Imagine, his sorrow isn't just personal! He sees himself as a channel, a conduit through which the Beloved, or even God, expresses a deeper, cosmic grief. His endless weeping isn't a weakness, but a fundamental outpouring from the very essence of existence. Like a great artist whose pain becomes a universal expression, Ghalib's tears echo the universe's own intricate, often melancholic, song.