The enigma unsolved, lingering still,
The heart seeks solace but finds no fill.
We view our affairs through our own lens,
Yet harmony eludes, as if by pretense.
A perpetual sign, a finale’s grace,
Yet the heart’s unrest refuses to be erased.
Spring has healed the blooms, their scars concealed,
But a void persists in the garden’s yield.
The penance endures for your fervent spree,
In searching, home remains a mystery.
Awaiting evening, desire’s unrest,
Time halts, in stagnant unrest.
Azra Mughal
