The last oozing hours, O my un-controlled emotions!

Ye crashing my roses, my divine pulses,

I am nothing, besides my breathe

How drought, how frail, O aching time!

I found no comfort, neither any hoary place

Whereupon I lay my burden and lechery;

Or to thrown my real self into eternal side,

Fairer then breathe, brightest then faded hierarchy.

Thy heart pipe flutes O happy happy hours

I Murmur teeming,  fluttering, and dreaming:

Ay,  thy heart burst my grasping joys,

And lo! Tent to poison, she left me in songs of spring.

Loitering alone with my primitive pain,

When over I saw her starved lips in gloam.

                                                          ~Saleem Raza Jakhar (Amar Shaw)

                                                             Sindh, Pakistan