A Lament
We stood in the drizzle
In the far meadows;
You danced in that f’gotten garden
On my flute;
We picnicked in there the wild highs,
I lifted you up high in my arms
And you played with the cloud;
Alas O love! Neither I called ‘loud your name ZABEEDA…!
And it echoed in the dale…
Copyright © Fayaz Bhat | Year Posted 2014
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