I am neither a Shaayir, nor a Naazim
For I can neither weigh the words
nor can I put weight in them
I cannot speak of beauty
For beauty is too beautiful a term
"My experience of colour and form?" Pishh!
I cannot speak of truth
For truth seems too truthful today
"My share of truth?" A silent cry!
I cannot speak of courage
For courage is beauty and truth
"My times of courage?" Sigh!
I cannot speak of love
For love has an eternal form
"My love?" It doesn't die!
I cannot speak of hate
For hate and love are twined
"My hate?" My love!
I cannot speak of joy and sorrow
"Usri-yusra", they always pass
"My joy? My sorrow?" Lets wait till morrow!
I cannot speak of life and death
"Zaikat-ul-mout", He said
"My life?" Before death!
I may have gone on and on
But I am neither a Shaayir
nor a Naazim!