I miss the voice that calls my name
I miss the hand that holds me securely
I miss the words that enlivens my day
I miss those eyes that see my soul
I miss the way you call my name
Along with the way you hold my hand
I miss you dearly how you love me
And how you tell me you do
I long to hear that voice again
I hope to feel your hand brush against mine
I hope to see those eys
And I hope to be loved by you as long as I have life
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers'' eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers'' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet
Jis insan ko gussa zayada aata hai wo insan piyar bhi utuna hi zayada karta hai Becoz If red is a danger showing colour then red is also the colour of love
