Rohtaas Fort pakistan Poem by Eden Verse

O Thou the beauteous lofty fort!
O ancient manse O royal court!
O land of beauteous holy dream!
Thou art a shield of mortal mort

Thou midst of ancient royal mead
A royal shade A royal hand
From centuries by majestic sky
In circles of devotees stand
The birds there singth in mirth and Glee
And doth so souls of seraph bands

In evening sing cuckoo and lark
And with them ring the mystic bells
O Tell thou Dozen lofty gates
O speak Thou stepped magic wells

Sprawling on the rocky hills
In bent of running foaming Ghaan
To save His kingly royal heart
Thy face decor by Shah Sher Khan?
Thou built on ancient Indian lands
Thou Koh e noor of Pakistan

Artistic hands of noble Turks
They measured first by indian scale
They then erected Asian king
In meadow green in heart of vale

Oh Thou largest than all the forts!
On face of Asian continent
For crowds of people everyday
Thou sing the songs of merriment

O Thou the kingly knight at Arms!
O thou guarded by heavens wall!
Thy face on hilly slope was made
By thousand hands of Todar Laal!
To crush the tribes of Potohar
Who were the lions of Indian war

O kings, Queens Of royal line
Wherest thou live?
Wherest thou go?
No grave no tomb not any shrine
Wherest tell me wherest you bow?
Thou chirp in birds in
winds that blow!
Or thou in Ghaan ' s bottoms row?

With open eyes I can see
The princess swimming in Baoli

In scented orchard royal maids
Are fixing blooms in princess braids

In castle thine now fairies dwell
They drink the water of thy wells
In horrid nights they knock at doors
And then lie on dusty floors
They wake and dance in lap of meads
In Dewy gale in morning breeze
O harken me departed souls
O ancient stones! O willow tree!
I fear the fate of Royal king
Thy kingly face who can not see
Who can not pray in Royal mosque
Who can not feel it's mirth and Glee
I fear The callous lady Death
Who in thy orchard roams so free

Thy fort is in the hand of Lord
He is the owner of this Gem
While thou and me by our heart cord
Can bow to him or sing a hymn

We are the tourists on this earth
We are a grain of desert vast
While phantoms of the days of past
Like kingly jewels all they lost