Desire Is Fancy, Fate Is Fact. Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

So silent, strange is life-strom
Who can playfully his play perform.
Notning is clear, nothing exact,
Desire is fancy, fate is fact.

Soul's bird wnats to fly so high
But the fist of dust is made to die
This conflict is the basic defect.
Desire is fancy, fate is fact.

Even if we reach the glory of fame
And each our dream may prove the same
Even then we cannot feel perfect.
Desire is fancy, fate is fact.

Here we want to live for ever
Fear of death comes to devour
Our passing away we cannot reject.
Desire is fancy, fate is fact.

I wish flowers may not wither
And autumn may not come hither
That Nature her course may neglect.
Desire is fancy, fate is fact.

Desire is glass, fact is stone
In the fair of world, man is alone
Often light things cast a heavy impact.
Desire is fancy, fate is fact.

May God bless you O my dear
Sorrow of no type should come near
Service of man I choose my sect.
Desire is fancy, fate is fact.