My Maker, I'll Greet in Spring
Like Shahid*, I would die in the opulence of autumn, but, cold dispirits me Pray! Lying under the sheets of freshly tilled soil, I wish not to look blue. Come Spring and my heart is a slave, a devotee, charmed by its visage Holding on to my musings, in its sorcerous arms, I desire to breathe my last. In autumn, a numb feeble leaf of Chinar is all that adorns a grave I have a thing for florets and wish to have three white lilies on mine. Virgin dew will be my potion and in consort with the breeze shall I sway On a moonlit spring night, I will pen a poem or may be yearn for my tribe. Spring it is, my Lord! Shrouded in its colours, I’ll come to greet Bright and dead, I will witness Your Splendour and embrace eternity! Mercy! If you pass by, picture my tomb not as a dwelling of dead In spring not anything dies, below the greens a pink blossom will I be. In spring, the withered bloom and the colourless salve their hues So, in my death I wi...