The mocking twilight
Of pretentious dead night came again
To stir the fragile foundation of my directionless life,
And again I have packed,
In the envelope of devotion,
My faithful greetings scribbled by
The desperate tip of my fluttering heart.

With the purified blood of my capillaries,
I wrote the poised address of my Beloved
And put it on the wings of air.
With an unquenchable hope of acceptance,
I requested the winds,
To blow in a favourable direction
And carry the quivering of my heart
To it’s right destination.

Like ever, this time too,
I have been forced to wait despondently
And my greetings, either reached nowhere
Or my beloved, resting,
Under the soothing shade of minarets
Over the dome of “Khizra”
Seems in no mood to shower any blessings.

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