Fire of love, what state it brought me—don’t ask.
In insanity, where it caught me—don’t ask.

What peace adorned the beloved’s street—don’t ask.
In those dark nights, what defeat—don’t ask.

Umpteen secrets hide behind the veil—don’t ask.
On Judgment Day, what I’ll unveil—don’t ask.

Shariq Lone, why recite these songs of despair?
You discredited her, yet say—don’t ask.

Who is it you wish to blame?
Yourself, or love’s fickle flame?
A lover seeks no vengeful quest,
For infidelity's a lover's test.

Now you burn in love’s cruel fire,
Now you know the pain, the dire.
Separation's grief, so sharp, so deep,
A wound that robs the soul of sleep.

You cannot shame another’s part,
When you too broke a tender heart.
And just as yours was torn apart,
Love plays its games, a twisted art.

Who urged you to love, to yearn?
When beauties' loyalties often turn.
I warned you twice, yet still you fell,
Into this sweet and bitter spell.

Enough now, Shariq, cease your fight,
And feel the beloved's fragile plight.