With you hurling
I see stones
In the hands of many
I bled to the earth red
Whence flowers grow in bloom
They have found
The discerning thin
Whom to the presence
Never been
Beauty is a talk
Who have not seen one
Let comprehend
Sans love the word
I tread the foot prints
To that door
I saw the moon move in lead
I thought that was a kiss
On the bud
With thorn I felt playing
In muse
Stone me to death
I passed by your side
Islamabad
18/3/2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
many stories in this poem with hidden pain..so touchingly done... I tread the foot prints To that door I saw the moon move in lead I thought that was a kiss On the bud With thorn I felt playing In muse Stone me to death I passed by your side