When the cloud of your hair encircled the moon’s glow,
The tears from my clouded eyes began to flow.
The bitterness of your reply, though harsh to my heart,
Was sweeter than sugar to my soul torn apart.
The dew of your cheek fell upon the darkened ground,
And from that water, life for the dead was found.
Had I access to silver and gold’s embrace,
The silver of your breast would become my saving grace.
Through the window of thought, my heart gave way,
Revealing my sorrow, which deepened each day.
From longing for your face, the pen caught my craze,
And like me, with madness, it spun in a daze.
A burning ghazal surfaced within my mind,
For only in such verses, my respite I find.