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.
Hur dil ke dharkan mein koe baat hoti hai. Hur udas zindigi me kisi ke yad hoti hai. Tumhain pata ho na ho tumhari Hur khushi k peche humari (dua) hoti hai
ISHQ AUR DOSTI MERI ZINDAGI KA UNWAN HAY
ISHQ MERI ZINDAGI DOSTI MERA EMAN HAY
ISHQ PAY KAR DON MEIN APNI SARI ZINDAGI
PAR DOSTI PAY MERA ISHQ B QURBAN HAY
Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable.
