I ThOuGhT LoVe WaS JusT A mIrAgE Of ThE MiNd. . . It''S An IlLusIoN, It''S FaKe, ImPoSsIbLe To FiNd. . .
BuT ThE DaY i MeT YoU
I BeGaN To SeE, ThAt LoVe Is ReAl AnD ExIsTs In Me. .
Tujhay kia khabar teri yaad
Nay humein kaisay kaisay sata dia
Kabhi khalwaton mein hansa dia
Kabhi mehfilon mein rula dia
Teray ishq mein kabhi yun huwa
K namaz apni qaza hui
teri aarzoo ne kabhi mujhe meray pak rab se mila dia
Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
