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
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