These palms are still not inked in black,
My pen do not need a refill.
The words are just scrambled forming mere lines,
Learning the way how a poetess feel.

This is not a poem at all,
Carrying no essence of rose.
Instead it reflects an unusual dryness,
Holding a desire to transform into meadows.

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Usse lagta hai ki hame uski harkato ki khabar ni... koi use bataye hame kya kya pata hai usee iski khabar nahi...😛

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Ye kaisa ishq chuna mene.... ki ishq me khud ka wajood hi kho beithe.... kya the aur kya ban baithe....

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Hazaar kamiyo ke bad bhi hame khubhiya nazar aa hi jati hai.... aur kuch log aise hai jinhe hame sirf kamiya hi nazar ati hai 🙂

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Ak tarfa mohobat ko kabhi do tarfa na hone dena.....
Do tarfa jo hua toh iska bhau bar jayega....
Ye ajkal ki mohobat hai mohtarma... iss ek tarfa ashiq ka ishq tere ha karte hi rato raat badal jayega😂😂😂😂

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Can't marry a poetess

"Your words are too deep,
And I can't keep up with the pace.
You speak of love and life,
With such eloquence and grace.
But my heart is slow,
I can't follow your embrace.
I admire your art,
And the way you express your heart.
But I'm not a poet,
I'll never be, from the start.
I can't match your words,
Or keep up with your verse.
So I must say goodbye,
To the woman who writes with such fire.
I know you'll find someone,
Who can match your desire.
Someone who can follow,
The rhythm of your rhyme.
Someone who can sing,
With words that intertwine.
I wish you the best,
With all of my heart.
Though I can't marry you,
We'll never be apart.
For we'll both find love,
In our own special way.
Farewell, my poetess,

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Jhoothe naqab posh logo ke zamaane me benaqb shaqs dhoodh rhi thi woh..... jaha rishto ko mehz jismo ka khel smjha jata hai waha wafa dhundne nikli thi woh....
Haqeqat se samna toh kai baar hua par apne dil se har bar har gyi woh...

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