Move on, with the silent conversation,
The unheard sound is music, speech a poem.
The serpent revolves in the curvaceous curve.
As the lock of hair weaves through my heart.
The unseen rain is on the drought struck desert;
Vision to the blind is the beauty's red cheek.
A touch by the tip of finger would unravel,
Secrets are manifest on the pink of lips.
The heart possesses riches of the dungeon,
You are or you are not, speak or be silent.
The look that slips down like a drunken gaze.
A fable is a fable and a love's story is born.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
February 18,2013.
Bolivar Heights: By Nicholas Delaney
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem