No form of flower
It is good if he is punished in his marriage
The flowers that you think are so funny
If dry, the eyes look bad
Will touch your jism and flowers will bloom
We are the artisans of Ishq in city-e-Wafa
In whose hands came I gave a flower,
The stone of his hand is looking for me
Never kiss the flowers of Jhoom ever in the sunlight of the day
Go along with you forever and never go away
If you look at that Hussein then how will you stay
If ever they become flowers then they will become ever more
