Chashm-e-khoobaan khaamoshi mein bhi nawa-pardaaz hai

The beautiful eye, though silent, shapes a grace; The kohl, you'd say, is smoke that leaves a trace.

The lover's body, tuned to fate's disgrace; His cry, the sound of planets whirling space.

See how Majnun's blood-weeping eye gives place To desert rose-fields, spread like flowered lace.

Her eye sells wine from pride's intoxicating space; The kohl, a wave of smoke that leaves a trace.

The pen's quick scratch prepares for pride's embrace; The letter gives the message flying space.

Ask not how love's tormented end finds place; The pen's first cry is pain's thorn-sharp embrace.

This urge to speak is just Majnun's mad chase; For Meaning's Laila, Asad, hides her face.

The caged bird hears its own sad cry as grace; Its shackle makes the music fill the space.

Her shyness seeks a single glance to chase; Her restless eye, a spy that leaves a trace.