A story of two wild poems…
She, was written with the blood untamed,
He, was written with the ink invisible,
Her opening lines were marked with tragedy,
From his opening lines, dripped the ink of pain,
In her veins were written the black magic incantations,
She was formed of the words, ferocious and ambivalent,
Which no one ever read, no one comprehended,
He was an epic, with the heart of a sonnet,
In his flesh were sculpt the maps of the secret galaxies,
Which were waiting to be traversed by a seeker,
She hustled the cult of a mild feminine nuance,
And her verses yield a new definition of royalty,
The more they read her, the more they got demented,
He was written in the pragmatic language,
But the absurdity was embedded within each syllable,
He drank annihilation with his wild demons on his side,
She had the powers, her readers didn't know of,
He had the magic, his theme didn't dictate,
These two wild poems were written on the wind,
Then a poet called time assorted them together,
Integrated their verses, their themes got married,
And the world beheld the best ballad written ever…
IQRA.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem