Look at yourself, look at the hollowness in the paths you so blindly traverse. Every mirage so alluring, vastly beautified, with an innate desire of enslavement. You seem to take refuge with those who are adehered, who beautify words and speak of righteousness. Don't you see everything you accumulated in your deep sleep is too thirsty for all the authority it seeks to impose over you. Every moment they arrive to you with a hundrerd new realms of meanings and conclusions. The traps of doubts and confusions are the ropes with which they bind you to the master of trickery, the world of fear and hopelessnesses. See! There are walls, so full of images and ideas and memories, gains and losses, expectations and attachments, and what more. How foolish that you have been seeking your shelter in them, the proof of your being through them. Don't you see it's they who seek their existence through you. Ah! There is no one to guide you, but yourself. A little they know of what they seem to live through, is the light within, the light that lights the worlds. The inner guide, give yourself to that knowing, that frees you of this unending desire of yearning to be someone, to be known, to be witnessed, and to be identified. Learn to be a pure witness to what arrives and passes away, for that what can be taken away within a blink of an eye was never meant to be relied upon. Let the silent lion of magnificence, the sharp inner discernment, the eyes that see, let it shine through, and let it outstrip naked all the falsehoods that keep you so lost within their illusions. Don't even memorize what is being said in this moment, for mere ideas are but the blockages to what lies beyond. Keep feeding that knowing and stay bewildered within it. Learn to keep this candle glowing and glowing, for there is darkness in every step you pursue.

This ghazal is about River Sindh and River Jehlum. Love and affection between them and how they try to express their feelings for each other in a very different way

The night has arrived, welcoming the princess of the night, the moon, out there shinning elegantly, full and bright, so shy all day she is, veiled up, now unveiling herself, letting the silent admirers witness her beauty. She illuminates the silence of the night with her luminescence, intoxicating all those present as they drink of her beauty. The silent lake reflects her effulgence as the peices of dimonds sparkling. The wisteria, the night jasmine, the evening primrose, all bloom up and take the shape of her beauty, attracting the morning comers, the early wakers with their fragrance. The night beetles, the moths, the fresh grass grasshopers come out clicking and crackling, singing and dancing to her elegance. The grass collects the dew drops in the earnst of the upcoming dawn. All this happens in the wait of that union in the early dawn, for all night the moon has been beautifying herself in wait of the moment as she hides and completely disolves herself within the magnificance of the rising sun.