“For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks… the work for which all other work is but preparation"
- Rainer Maria Rilke
The secret of the setting Sun or the secret of the scheming spider?
(PC: Myself)
अगर आख़िर में तुझे राज़ ही बनके रहना था
तो बाँटके दर्द, बनाया क्यों मुझे राज़दार?
(If in the end, you had to remain a secret
Why did you share thy pain and
trust me with secrets?)
Agreed, you intend not to invoke
ever again those incomplete words.
Agreed, you intend not to knit
any further those incomplete dreams.
Agreed, all beautiful things
must at some point come to an end.
Yet, why does this incomplete craving
of the heart refuse to cease?
Yet, why does this chaos of emotion
refuse to surrender to the logic of reason?
Yet, why do I have so many complaints
when I accept all that has happened?
