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.
Mujhe Aadat Si HO Giye Hai Subha Sham Likhta Hon
Tumhain Mohsin
Tumhe Dilbar
Tumhe Gulfam Likhta Hon
MeiN Haton Per
Kitabon Per
Darakhton Per
Diwaron Per
Mein Jab Likhon
Jahan B Likhon
Sirf?
Sirf Apni Jaan
Yani Apka Naam Likhta Hon
