.
Behind the depression of discarded Love,
The land that was once again called rain,
When the ethereal whispered
The day turned again,
Thousands of purple flowers play on that land
With all-colours of butterflies,
Insight eyes grow,
The eyes stop
Dreams run parallel to the path,
A spring of strangely unexplored wind in the afternoon
Seeing the strange behaviour of Fong
Somehow alone you walk through the lane on the shore of the river

Certainly, the melody comes out,
Cradling with the known and the unknown
Want to get back to one turn,
Light and shadow in the game,
The pages are painted in colour,
Again, in the midst of different forms,
In search of her shape,
Towards the illusions of the dream,
In the songs of flowers and leaves,
In one of the magical forms of poem

Where to get lost, no one can stop the dam,
If lost, all is returned,
Then if anyone in the dream calls
And if you wake up
In the dark of the darkness, it is easy to forget yourself
Feeling faded to swell,
Comes out of the poem of great form,
Where the beauty of love is inaccessible
And poetry covers the wide-ranging sky,
An endless loving-laden night,
Whose unimaginable unknowingly unmarked path
.
@Musfiq us shaleheen
5th April,2018