A literary evening
In the memory of Burquawalli,
In the nakab, the hijab.
An evening descending,
Buquawalli as my mistress in love
Going, passing through
And the heart in shock and hurts
And the wounds bleeding it again.
I with the palm on the heart
To balm and console,
Reading my shayari
In the memory of her,
Burquawalli as my love,
My mistress.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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