A poem I may never complete / A prosody that may never have rhythm / A rhyming of broken syllables / A Gazal without her mention / Her incomplete gaze; in spite of my presence / My youth without her love is tainted fruit / The fruit that if eaten is committing sin / My soul is imprisoned in the custody of evil orchard / The orchard of despair instead.
-Mirza Sharafat Hussain Beigh
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