It waves hard, like
  An ordeal of times
       past;
Irresistible, it wears
      down
 Wilfully mortal
    endurance;
It worries, like
     summer sky,
  Setting the soul
      breathless;
In woeful tone the
     moth
  Haplessly weeps to
       stars;
Longing, infinite and
       vain,
   Furnishes the mood
       inside;
Outside, nighingale
       still
  Sings through
     the vacant autumn
          sky.
                       -by
             Hakim Kassim.

Melody spun by threads of fate
Dirge brimming with tears flows
Melancholic harmony sung in a forlorn tune
Each bit of this song reverbates with him
Caged in the throat a scream of his name
Withering verses of her youth in his thirst
Lost in midst of cacophony of orthodox shrieks
Binded in chains of clamor of rank
A nighingale sings to the flute of his love
Blood in her veins dance to his symphony
Stolen by noise of deceit in tunes of destiny
Soul now sings hymns of love in heaven