Poverty
Beloved, your voice is captivating,
When you come,
The atmosphere awakens to dance.
When I see your face,
Nothing else comes into view,
Your eyes pour nectar into my soul.
Beloved, but there are other imprints
On my heart.
In the dreamlike land,
Ruined gardens,
Silent cries of the people
Nodding their heads,
Bodies without flesh
Under the cloak of poverty.
Aslam Murad
