A young maiden standing before, Burquawalli,
A veiled lass,
A Muslim girl
And I with my brush
Making an art-piece of hers,
A portrait of an artist,
The artist as a young man not, woman.
A black and white photo of hers,
She standing before
In her dark robe or gown
And I portraying, making a portrait of.
The evening is descending,
The jasmines in sweet scent and redolence,
The stars twinkling up above
And the burqua-clad beauty passing through.
I feeling like in an evening full of ghazals,
She coming to me as a ghazal
And I feeling for
The lass behind the bars.
The notes of the cuckoo breaking forth
From the trees
Where it is perched upon,
But the melody of the note taking me away.
Topic(s) of this poem: art
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.