Poetry by the ustāds of centuries ago still feels relevant today because it carries enduring emotional and philosophical depth.
arz hai:

fikr-e-ma.āsh ishq-e-butāñ yād-e-raftagāñ
is zindagī meñ ab koī kyā kyā kiyā kare

This sher is by Mohammad Rafi Sauda (b. 1713).
fikr: worry, anxiety
ma.āsh ( معاش): livelihood
butāñ: Plural of but (idol)
In Urdu poetry, the idol often stands for the beloved: an object of worship, beautiful yet stone-hearted. In Sufi readings, the meaning rises to divine love.

Here’s a loose translation of the sher:

to earn a living, to love one’s idols, to remember the lost –
how much can a person do in this life?

The first misra lists three parallel burdens – work, desire, and grief. The second misra is brilliant – its tumbling “k” sounds mirror the stumbling frustration of the speaker. The rhetorical question has a tone of exasperation, even indignation.

Centuries later, the lament still feels fresh. Yesterday, in a building in Palo Alto, I noticed a plaque stating that the Internet was designed there in 1973. That innovation reshaped life, multiplying demands on our time and attention.

Sauda’s sher is 250 years old, but if anything, life has only grown busier. This is the age of information, and therefore also the age of misinformation, disinformation, and too-much-information. There are countless tabs open, constant notifications, and infinitely scrolling feeds. To be human today is to be perpetually overwhelmed.

And so we echo Sauda: is zindagī meñ ab koī kyā kyā kiyā kare!