Do tell please, drops of tear, why they are hanging that way,
From the eyes a-dangling?
Who has given pangs of grief? Not a word did He say;
He has torn a flower of the wreath.
Beneath twilight's smiling luster, a shy jasmine of the night,
Why does He not call her through the rifts of clouds white?
He fails to grasp her pain, the heart's heavy weight,
Why her untied braids are shabby.
Who is He that holds dear but comes not close-by?
Staying far, He smiles and hides in the sky of mind.
His love, hard it grows to appreciate;
Like the rose this is prickly.
Sarkarverse article
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Tuesday, November 1, 2022
Sweet misery
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Like much of what is best in life, His love, it comes not easy.
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