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Not just the tumult, even silence may beat tonight
Each syllable of rhythm may get defeat tonight

When words become futile to express the sorrow
For God sake—tell me—what shall I repeat tonight

And somewhere in deserts of Iraq—Shimr yelled
"I will behead Husayn, if he didn't retreat tonight"

F, N and few more have stormed the love treasure
These are the men who don't look neat tonight
Husayn was grandson of Prophet Muhammad, brutally martyred in Karbala, by the army of Yazid.
Natives Blind, and few clueless tonight
Who left the town in ****** mess tonight?

Cakes of Flesh scattered—scarlet coloured
And gory shroud—my town’s dress tonight

Turn off the lights—your worship is enough
Dear Angels! She is my holy stress tonight

To tiresome tongues of people—who ask
Let me tell them—I won’t confess tonight

Wavyllah—Zainab—Abbas has left the tent
On bank of furaat—he is armless tonight

Stripping the truth—this love is an illusion
She has left open—her vastness tonight
letters in grief
Shall I tell Spring?
That you have clutched a pair of flowers
Withered in your hands
They resemble us...

Shall I tell summer?
That your lips and eyes have parched
By the vehement love
So long ago.

Shall I tell autumn?
That your heart has grown crispier
More tender than Chinar leaves
Trampled by me.

Shall I tell winter?
Your ***** is so frozen
No longer which, yearns for warmth
So fragile to split.
~
Her Orchards of Despair
-Mirza Sharafat Hussain
There is no day, no moment, poet does not think of Leila. Her Orchards in spring are full of despair, poet counts the miseries so brilliantly.
Grief may lament, such verse I will serve tonight
Words dwell in heart, poetry in my nerve tonight

Who knows how to bear, the night of separation
I won't ask any wish, prayers shall reserve tonight

Beloved flew below my eyes like the smoke
An hour of silence, separation to observe tonight

A pile of Letters in Grief, restless on window sill
Each word to recall, Each letter to preserve tonight
Grieved verses can make even grief to cry.
Over thorns I have seen flowers lying tonight
I have seen moths near lamp dying tonight

I can see my vision getting blurred enough
Before me, I can't see you crying tonight

My speech is rambling on a prayer rug
And each wish from heart is flying tonight

Ever seen frozen eyes of a dead beloved?
Then, likewise my eyes are drying tonight

In the Imambara of Kashmir, Mirza! ***!
Ask your wish, why are you shying tonight
When flowers rest over thorns, and moths burn before lamps, and when all this happens tonight.
Let me return to past, let me recall tonight
With me cries, each corner and wall tonight

What let flowers to slit throat in my garden
Who has invoked the curse to fall tonight

My screams have awoken people from sleep
Separation to be mourned in rainfall tonight?

He might be Abbas-e-Ali collecting tears
Mourners have sighted him tall tonight

Mirza, your phone is ringing since evening
Who told you to deny her call tonight?
Poet can make you cry, while recalling his past. Hold on and wipe your tears, there is even more grief.
Tears will flow, there is no patience tonight
Each drop will mourn her absence tonight

I am alone at home, who else will listen?
Cries won't make any offence tonight

She has a reason to do all this havoc
She will tear letters in my presence tonight

Dispute has rendered her fearless
She looks stranger at my residence tonight

Sharafat, don't add fuel to boiling anger
Keep calm, and cry with silence tonight
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