by Shahida Latif
What kind of madness it is,
A moment complains to a moment;
Now fate has brought us both
Together after centuries,
And love is a silent spectator.
Brain and heart go around
The circle with no end,
Though they travel long distances
Yet they go not beyond the limits.
Ah! We hadn’t had in the minds
That a moment would come,
And the spring would bloom,
But our bodies would be crumbled
Bruised, replete with wounds;
You would have the fictions to narrate,
And I would have nothing
But the tales of sleepless nights.
Last updated June 26, 2011