O Pirs Daughter

I am sitting over the mount’s top On the highest rock Watching the city’s scene; As the bucks in countries In summers do, Rise to the highest point and stare down the dale, Seeing in the side Their beloveds live. Oh come on! And I will show How pigeons flutter round the tall domes of shrines; Swans swim in the calm lake; Kites diving in open sky; Lovers gossip in grassy gardens Under short shady trees; People walking as toys, in the busy streets; And wide walls of ancient king’s palace have half–fallen. O Pir’s daughter My love! My love! My love! What are you uselessly so scared and coy? Honey! We are not any American gays! Lesbians, homos or bloody bi’s. I am also a religious guy A God-fearing father’s son, Though, you are an overly pure woman! And remember, we had fallen in love— God willingly. Pir is like a clergyman, a Father in kashmiri