Let me make this promise fickle
To entomb my complaints morbid
In the impregnable dustbins of
Some anonymous corridors.
Let you invent thousand excuses
To conceal thy wishes ruptured.
Let you deny those eyes scorched
Even the clues of beads priced.
Let's suffer silently in this night
The exultant rays will shine again
Let the swing of time be the Messiah
It will cause our emotions to rise again.

©  Badee Uz Zaman