SONNET 44
By JH
Sayyar
Love-tears holy than a pious man,
Lovers; saints we know it better,
The lovers happy, see heart’s cancan,
Love knows no bound happy in tatter.
Neither can you sell love nor bought:
It is our holy refined soul’s echoes.
After a hundred years love I sought,
Heart falls when my mistress goes.
On the cinder path the lovers walk,
As birds over the sea fly to and fro
Live anywhere, our souls daily talk
All true souls never sleep for a mo.
You want to kill me, kill me with loath
All call you traitor, I trust in your oath!
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