This sentence like a neolithic arrow Molted with rust, and in a hand He had forgotten, surfaces from A book of poems he had taken Down at random to read on A Sunday afternoon in the summer When the vanishings of memory began.

Outside the dolor of heat, heavy Under a fog of smoke - in the other country heat was dry like her laughter, and trees broadcast their urgent passions Using flags of maroon. How close are Unrelated words - maroon and marooned?

Everything made sense once -in the way his mouth skated across her calvicle, and the way her singing pierced his hands of dripping ice. So on walking into a wood paneled room with an attached garden - meant for the idle contemplation of a scholar mandarin - Years after they had spent a summer afternoon in that museum, his head whiplashes as a girl enters

What story could have been told By those who came from them Had they stayed within the narrative They each told to themselves first? This is the story, he will try to Tell the night, walking home under The radiance of sheet lighting.

...first heard on the soundtrack of "Black Hawk Down"...working beyond 6.00 pm, and enjoying what is in reality a bleak song...

The harmony that was in you, and was in me, perhaps you remember it, or not That to which we were to be faithful, perhaps you remember it, or not

Those overtures in general, those hands of kindness over mine, Everything I remember, a little - perhaps you remember too, or not

Once there was desire in you and me, just as once there was a road between us Once we were completely lost in each other - perhaps you remember this, or not?

Translated, approximately, from the Urdu

Watch Nayyara Noor's searing performance of this famous ghazal