Poetry

 

Of the ignorant bud I'm afraid,
Of the flower's end I'm afraid.

Getting stones in return for flowers,
Of flower's name I'm afraid.

Who knows how much is the granted time!
Of the morn, of the eve, I'm afraid.

Come let's get together without cup and jar,
Of the cup going round I'm afraid.

Seeing holy and unholy precincts' conflict,
Of every door and terrace I'm afraid.

Me, in the bond of love and courtesy,
Of a trapless bond I'm afraid.

They say, "Who would stand by Rizwan!"
Of such a nondescript I'm afraid.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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