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.
Dil se tera khayal na jaye to kya karu?
tu hi bata teri yaad aaye to kya karu?
hasrat hai ki ek nazar tujhe dubara dekh lu
kismat woh lamha na laye to kya karu?
