Sher on Wada

We kept ourselves alive on your promise—know this as a lie, my dear.

If we had truly trusted it, we would have died happily long ago.

The lover says their survival was tied to the beloved’s promise, but that promise proved false. The sharp paradox is that real trust would have brought such overwhelming relief that the lover would have “died of joy.” The couplet turns faith into a life-support and exposes how betrayal converts hope into bitter self-reproach. Love here is shown as suspended between trust and the pain of being deceived.

We kept ourselves alive on your promise—know this as a lie, my dear.

If we had truly trusted it, we would have died happily long ago.

The lover says their survival was tied to the beloved’s promise, but that promise proved false. The sharp paradox is that real trust would have brought such overwhelming relief that the lover would have “died of joy.” The couplet turns faith into a life-support and exposes how betrayal converts hope into bitter self-reproach. Love here is shown as suspended between trust and the pain of being deceived.

We are holding onto the hope of faithfulness from them,

Those who do not even understand what faithfulness means.

The poet mocks his own naivety in expecting loyalty from a beloved who is completely oblivious to the concept. It highlights a tragic irony where the lover's intense expectations are directed at someone incapable of fulfilling them, either due to innocence or cruel indifference.

We are holding onto the hope of faithfulness from them,

Those who do not even understand what faithfulness means.

The poet mocks his own naivety in expecting loyalty from a beloved who is completely oblivious to the concept. It highlights a tragic irony where the lover's intense expectations are directed at someone incapable of fulfilling them, either due to innocence or cruel indifference.

You used to say: I will be faithful, I will stand by it, I will listen to you.

Do you still remember whose words those were?

The couplet recalls a lover’s old assurances—faithfulness, constancy, and obedience—and then turns them into a pointed question. By asking “whose words were these,” the speaker highlights the gap between promises and present behavior. The tone carries reproach mixed with sorrow, using memory as evidence against forgetfulness and betrayal.

You used to say: I will be faithful, I will stand by it, I will listen to you.

Do you still remember whose words those were?

The couplet recalls a lover’s old assurances—faithfulness, constancy, and obedience—and then turns them into a pointed question. By asking “whose words were these,” the speaker highlights the gap between promises and present behavior. The tone carries reproach mixed with sorrow, using memory as evidence against forgetfulness and betrayal.

There was no promise, no certainty, and no real hope from you.

Yet I still had to keep waiting for you.

The couplet captures love as an inner compulsion: even when the beloved offers no commitment, assurance, or hope, the speaker cannot stop waiting. The repetition of "no" intensifies the emptiness on one side, while "had to" shows helpless devotion on the other. Waiting becomes a fate the lover accepts, despite knowing it may be futile.

There was no promise, no certainty, and no real hope from you.

Yet I still had to keep waiting for you.

The couplet captures love as an inner compulsion: even when the beloved offers no commitment, assurance, or hope, the speaker cannot stop waiting. The repetition of "no" intensifies the emptiness on one side, while "had to" shows helpless devotion on the other. Waiting becomes a fate the lover accepts, despite knowing it may be futile.

I did something unbelievable: I trusted your promise.

All night long, I waited as if awaiting Doomsday.

The speaker rebukes himself for believing the beloved’s word, treating that trust as a shocking mistake. The “night-long wait” becomes so intense and crushing that it feels like waiting for the end of the world. “Qayamat” is a metaphor for unbearable anxiety and emotional devastation, showing how a broken promise turns time into torment.

I did something unbelievable: I trusted your promise.

All night long, I waited as if awaiting Doomsday.

The speaker rebukes himself for believing the beloved’s word, treating that trust as a shocking mistake. The “night-long wait” becomes so intense and crushing that it feels like waiting for the end of the world. “Qayamat” is a metaphor for unbearable anxiety and emotional devastation, showing how a broken promise turns time into torment.

Do you remember—or not—the understanding we once had between us?

Do you remember—or not—that very promise to keep faith and stay true?

The speaker addresses the beloved with a restrained ache, asking whether they still recall the old mutual bond. “Qarar” suggests an agreed, steady relationship, and “wada nibah” is the pledge of loyalty. By repeating “remember or not,” the poet conveys uncertainty, hurt, and quiet accusation: forgetting itself becomes a form of betrayal. The couplet turns memory into a test of love and commitment.

Do you remember—or not—the understanding we once had between us?

Do you remember—or not—that very promise to keep faith and stay true?

The speaker addresses the beloved with a restrained ache, asking whether they still recall the old mutual bond. “Qarar” suggests an agreed, steady relationship, and “wada nibah” is the pledge of loyalty. By repeating “remember or not,” the poet conveys uncertainty, hurt, and quiet accusation: forgetting itself becomes a form of betrayal. The couplet turns memory into a test of love and commitment.

Out of regard or politeness, I did accept what you said.

But with that false oath, your faith and credibility are gone.

The speaker says he agreed not because he was convinced, but to maintain courtesy. The beloved tries to prove truth with a sworn statement, yet the oath is clearly false. That lie doesn’t just break trust; it exposes moral bankruptcy—‘imaan’ here stands for integrity and reliability. The couplet’s sting is that the other person “wins” the argument but loses honor.

Out of regard or politeness, I did accept what you said.

But with that false oath, your faith and credibility are gone.

The speaker says he agreed not because he was convinced, but to maintain courtesy. The beloved tries to prove truth with a sworn statement, yet the oath is clearly false. That lie doesn’t just break trust; it exposes moral bankruptcy—‘imaan’ here stands for integrity and reliability. The couplet’s sting is that the other person “wins” the argument but loses honor.

I too am puzzled, O Dagh, about what this strange matter is.

They make promises, and yet it only makes me smile.

The lover is amazed at his own reaction: the beloved’s promises no longer inspire hope but provoke a knowing smile. “Promise” becomes a metaphor for empty assurance, repeated so often that it turns into a joke. The emotional core is weary disbelief mixed with quiet irony, as trust has been replaced by amused skepticism.

I too am puzzled, O Dagh, about what this strange matter is.

They make promises, and yet it only makes me smile.

The lover is amazed at his own reaction: the beloved’s promises no longer inspire hope but provoke a knowing smile. “Promise” becomes a metaphor for empty assurance, repeated so often that it turns into a joke. The emotional core is weary disbelief mixed with quiet irony, as trust has been replaced by amused skepticism.

If someone made you false promises the way you make them,

then judge fairly and tell me—would you still be able to trust them?

The speaker turns the beloved’s own habit of false promises back on them, using a moral mirror. By asking for an honest judgment, he exposes hypocrisy: what feels tolerable when you do it becomes unacceptable when done to you. The core emotion is wounded trust, seeking fairness and accountability. The couplet’s bite lies in making the beloved answer their own standard.

If someone made you false promises the way you make them,

then judge fairly and tell me—would you still be able to trust them?

The speaker turns the beloved’s own habit of false promises back on them, using a moral mirror. By asking for an honest judgment, he exposes hypocrisy: what feels tolerable when you do it becomes unacceptable when done to you. The core emotion is wounded trust, seeking fairness and accountability. The couplet’s bite lies in making the beloved answer their own standard.

Tell me plainly: who was it that even made a promise at all?

What excuse do liars need when they want to deny their own words?

The speaker challenges the beloved with cutting clarity, implying that no real promise was ever made. The second line sharpens the accusation: for people who lie, backing out needs no justification—they can always deny. The metaphor is moral rather than physical: “excuse” becomes a mask, and “denial” exposes character. The emotional core is hurt turning into blunt, bitter honesty.

Tell me plainly: who was it that even made a promise at all?

What excuse do liars need when they want to deny their own words?

The speaker challenges the beloved with cutting clarity, implying that no real promise was ever made. The second line sharpens the accusation: for people who lie, backing out needs no justification—they can always deny. The metaphor is moral rather than physical: “excuse” becomes a mask, and “denial” exposes character. The emotional core is hurt turning into blunt, bitter honesty.

All right—make a false promise; at least I feel reassured now.

It’s a small thing, just to cheer up a sorrowful heart.

The speaker asks for comfort even if it comes through a lie: a promise that isn’t true still gives momentary peace. The couplet frames consolation as something easy—just a few words can lift a dejected heart. Beneath the light tone is deep loneliness: the heart is so needy that even false hope feels like mercy.

All right—make a false promise; at least I feel reassured now.

It’s a small thing, just to cheer up a sorrowful heart.

The speaker asks for comfort even if it comes through a lie: a promise that isn’t true still gives momentary peace. The couplet frames consolation as something easy—just a few words can lift a dejected heart. Beneath the light tone is deep loneliness: the heart is so needy that even false hope feels like mercy.