O imprinted feel ,the permanent and constant delusion,
Call me back to those cities with clean roads,
Where flowers blossom with purity,
And night falls with intentions of deep sleep ...
Where there is one who can understand the talk of my restless heart,
I am beggar to my soul and my heart feeds,
The yearnings ,the burnings it keeps...
I revolve and swirl ,for the riddles unsolved,
And in this search, i am gleefully surrendering to my unknown belief...
Lower down, surrender ur vaues or so called traditions,
For the hearts's seeds those irrigated with tears of repent,
Can only be reaped,shall only be bent....
Hiramalik
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