Upon the difficult path of love, there is exceeding peril:
Every footstep I take thereon, my life in danger I place.
Shouldst thou my bosom rend asunder, thou wilt perceive,
That, thro’ grief for thee, my whole heart is turned to blood.
The genial rain of thy kindness falleth not upon me,
That the seed of thy love, planted in my heart, might germinate.
Thy treasured secret, even unto my tongue, I will not impart;
For the secret, that hath reached the tongue, is ever a fireside tale.
I am ignorant with regard to love, as to what thing it is;
But this much I hear, that from beauty its effect proceedeth.
But who is he, that, unto the love ineffable, hath attained?
Tho’ in this matter, indeed, every one boasteth of success.
It was when thou and I were not, that love was born:
‘Tis not that this influence hath been originated by thee and me.
Hide, O Khushal, from the world, the woes of love!
But how can I conceal that, which it knoweth full well?
(Khoshal Khan Khattak)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, World Poems, Place Poems, Success Poems, Secrets Poems, Danger & Risk PoemsBased on Keywords: germinate, proceedeth, boasteth, originated