Poetic Reflections on Love and Longing
Ghazal
There is sorrow, yes—but scarcely grief so deep;
These eyes are hardly crimson from the tears they keep.
Each person guards his own concern, his private plight;
No one here remembers another, even in passing light.
They clipped my wings before my very first ascent;
It is dread of separation, not desire for union, that is meant.
The real delight is smiling still, though beaten in the fray;
To triumph every time is hardly virtue’s highest display.
One must dive below the surface before emerging bright;
Sunset does not announce decline—hardly the end of light.