Recite that poem today Sifar, which a tale of sorrow not be
Hearing which the heart aches not, the eyes moist not be
You will surely come my darling, to that i do agree
But what if when you arrive, in this body the breath not be?
What poetry is that through which pain pulses not?
How can it be love, if it a tour of sorrow not be?
Although the blood keep flowing, the cemetery keep growing
But the flame of the fire of the madness of love, lesser let not be
Many a tale have we heard Sifar, of pureness of heart
But whom does the world heed, if his pockets full not be?
No comments:
Post a Comment