No matter what laws speak,
Of who should mourn when;
O nature, I’m a man,
Who violates every told thing.

Asks to be destroyed by not in wrath,
But to be taken in ease,
To gain enlightenment before in every breath I lose, goes in vain.

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With poems who binds his heart,
As binds an old farmer his tethered OX,
With who has wasted his busy days getting free,
Who’s never sorry for writing his forever story,
Whose people from him, dishearten.

(Were there when in the air the scent of fame and money, smelled good, as long as I proved productive.)

When shall these islands of fame, floating on the seas of mediocrity, sink?
My Lord, when shall I be brought to justice?
To discuss this, this with good friends who in common agree, but never do they act.
Like Ghalib: if not drunk, a mystic worshipper.


I’m told the path to fly like birds that fly through my glass window,
And to swim like Trout in Jhelum,
I’ve been know to ships that are thereon,
Sailing you to the shores your friends don’t come,
To the space with different laws,
Where you know moon by its twelve progenies,
Where months are known by the last moon birth.

I’ve been taught the pathway of not to beg for what you wanted to seize,
Be soft than to be strong,
Let loose your stiff correction when needed: Like a soft tree when faces a mighty wind, bends, and breaks down the one standing still who with his stiffness proves wrong.


But what thence I behold with all my wondrous things?
Both what had been, and what hereafter will be done.
Knitting still my thoughts into a peculiar head-worn hat,
That one usually sees me wearing or will,
So I could speak, because my name is brought: Hero-like who is dear to good and known to none.

Now I’m seen like all come to see: In the streets, on the road, onto the echoing mountains and in the bus, with them, accepting my thoughts.
O God, of all the entire realms, release me from the materialistic bonds, untie the bond between me and the emotional me,
For no matter what laws speak; of who should mourn when,
I’m a man.

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