The meaning of my love is to express a few traces of it-
To leave someone, yet still call another a beloved friend.
You too know your own story well,
Yet grow weary of me because of my very words.
Now I write books for the sake of my loved ones,
Earlier, it was enough to send them just a telegram.
The secrets were meant to be revealed through these books,
If some verses touch your heart, then call me a companion in sorrow.
All these poems are presented only in their honor,
Those who have gone far away from me-still call them my life.
Come, let me narrate to you the tale of separation as well,
And when the story ends, simply say: "It is complete."
Why should Abdul remember a world that has forgotten him?
Someone, while dying, merely left behind a final plea.