Poetry

 

Far from the repose, in a thoroughfare,
You'll find him whom you never get at home even by mistake.

The secret sought after in the Sacred Arch,
Settled in the heart, then why look for within walls and in the opening?

That thing is too old, the stories are of the long past,
When there was a craze in the head by day and night.

Do they not face the turmoil of the time?
Daring are those who are brought up in the whirlpool.

Stopped for a breath, is it losing the heart?
There is still energy in the wings for flight.

There is no provision for journey except feet boils
God knows the destination, but I am travelling.

There is no desire in the broken heart,
Does one live in a deserted ruin?

There was another time when evenings were morning like,
Rizwan there is no pleasure now either in the night or in the morning.
 

 

 

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