میرے دل میرے مسافر

ہوا پھر سے حکم صادر

کہ وطن بدر ہوں ہم تم

دیں  گلی  گلی صدایئں

From behind the curtain of thick grey fog

peeks melancholia, a familiar face and friend

Hope is but a distant mirage, even a wild bog

It kills you, leaving no sad evidence in the end

Where does the yellow full moon vanish

when a new moon is born up there and far?

Does it become a memory, sweet but painful

dreams, that are either forgotten or they scar?

Or does it shatter into a million little pieces;

each piece evolving into a lovely shining star?

Of what use is a glorious October dawn,

if the beautiful colours over the horizon;

do not remind you and make you smile,

of someone’s blushed and fragrant laughter