This is Rasul Mir, at Shahabad, Doru.
He has opened a love-kiosk.
Come ye lovers, drink free cup.
Love's fire burns me deep
You stay away, my angry love,
and here I sink from senses dear;
My tears flow and wash all kajal from my eyes dear
My heart is not the love one, caged in that love
This is way, the path through which,
not one but two worlds've gone
Like an Ivy caught in violets,
a full moon trapped by pythons two;
or a beauty of China
wearing the sacred thread
My heart you stole,
and left me a maiden.
Rasuls, knows thy locks and looks
is a fine faith.
How'd he know what is kufur,
and what Islam, dear.
That face is the kaaba of beauty,
her lashes layered over and over.
In the path of love,
it is meet to bow to those two brows
Bride's robes, would suit thee well,
Ye, my beloved of short years
Thy braids of hair, thy ear rings
peep from beneath the gossamer cover
Come let us be friends, ye lovely beauty,
listen to my laments, oh Henzi,
come to see the mela and,
we shall roam through Telbal