Why is my love for you, dyed in wool?What is the hindrance to moving on?Why in love have I been made a fool?What’s been causing this oblivion?Why is thought of you, ever-present?What’s keeping me from forgetting you?Why is the sight of you magnificent?What’s it you possess than others few?A slow fire burns deep within me,And keeps my curiosity at highI question these puzzles so direly,To philosophy, a pleasure – wryIf all life has led me to this point,To make me but a mere proponentThen, from this day to my last moment,Just you and love, are my argument.
― Zubair Ahsan
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