A writer of grief is waiting for you in the Garden of my somber heart.
Who went mad in your love O laila.
I am caroling and crooning for you in the garden of my splintered life.
where I am bedecking the garden in my life for you to come.
There the flowers are whirling for you to come.
How entrancingly the garden smells for you to come.
I am decorating the wooden bench for you to come,
where we will sit, whispers, and embrace each other,
The butterflies flapping their wings on the vivid blossoms.
Months have passed, My heart is confused,
The teary eyes longing to see you Before the death,
I desiderate to exult with you in the garden of my life,
Our ribbon hearts entangled together,
I asked How long will it last, she whispered
Forever, now Far away.
Spend the time with you, By which my sorrows would end,
And I would find ataraxia in the deep grave.
The sweetness of her voice will fetch me in sung peace.
~Shahid Ul Islam
Kashmir, India