It would then pass,
From door to door, eye to eye,
It would then be forgotten.
It would then be for those who love,
To lament,
In such long nights,
It would then, that the book,
Of bygone days be read,
Slow turning of pages, like,
The autumn leaves.
And underneath memories.
They simply said, 'Where is the love'
I simply said, 'Where the lover is'
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem