By Now it’s an old way, we want to shadow ourselves,
Earth is too thick, I want to pant a tree on my forehead.
Midnight doesn’t have a feel to enjoy,
I should decorate myself.
Again life is ill, bitter medicines make it a patient,
Again I heard that I should wear your veil.
Eyes are a bundle of tears, the heart is being old due to your sorrows,
On the way, the fallen down evening should be on the hands.
There is no sound of birds and beauty of nature,
Only the mad man wants to run on the streets.
Sometimes she makes excuses and finds herself as a loyal,
Muneer I beard that one day who kills her excuses.
Translation By: Sattar Samad
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