I shall fill the ditch, which is my heart, with the clay of words,

so that my lines will clutch at the ankles of the Beloved walking all over it after the rains,

so that she will sink into the clay right to her wings, and thus moved from air to earth, she will stay put

send down roots, and become a gulmohar growing out of me.

"Yeh na thi hamari qismat ke visaal-e-yaar hota Agar aur jitey rahatey yahi intazaar hota"

It wasn't fated to be, a meeting with the beloved. Had we lived, only more of this waiting.