Page55. Qateel.
Slain I am
By your alluring
Charm
You called it
Destiny
Avoiding a glance
At me
Your plea - shyness.
Kindness and regard
You offer a stranger
For me – your excuse
Trembling of legs!
I follow my Friend
To the Masjid
To view his
Spleandour
He conceals his face
With hands raised
In Supplication!
The radiance and
Beauty to him -
Unendurable,
Observed he
Solitude – his excuse
Remembrance of God!
Hearing my voice
To the door
He came – his excuse
Alms to give the one
Begging!
The blood of Qateel
Without reason or rhyme
This beautiful one
Did dab/put/rub
On his feet – his excuse
Hina it is!
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