Gold loses its luster compared to the radiant blessing of saluting the Holy Prophet.
Here I am
To win your love.
Not sure
Why or how.
I have with me
Loads of gold.
In my bag:
Penny-papers rolled.
My hands are full
Of Hindi costumes.
Plenty are the boxes
Of Hijazi perfumes.
Hey my starry-eyed beloved!
I still have
Something better.
Even angels salute
Its every letter.
Your lips
Shall become sweet.
Even honey’s taste
It shall defeat.
Lift the veil of solitude:
Lend me your ears.
Surely, it shall please
You for years.
Shall I tell you
What it is?
‘On His Rasool
May descend much Peace!’
January 16 2004. Edit July 2024
