tr. from Shahryar's 'Zindagi jab bhi'
Whenever the years pull me to you,
we salt midnight, eclipse the moon,
all lanes turn chrysanthemum, as the
days end with your voice, like now,
like this, once again, your memory
knocks, then whispers, does not let
the night climb; every time we met,
we fell apart; will it be again this time.