log kehte hain wo mujse juda rehta hai ban k dharkan jo mere dil me basa rehta hai yun meri zat me shamil hai uski hasti jistarha sary zamany me khuda rehta hai
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.
Us Ne Door Rehnay Ka Mashwara B Likha Ha,
Saat He Mohabbat Ka Wasta B Likha Ha.
Us Ne Yeh B Likha Ha Meray Ghar Nehn AAna,
Or saaf Lafzon Me Rasta B Likha Ha
