The kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake
Sayyid Ahmad
is walking and mourning very quietly.
From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).
GHAZAL, IN LAMENT FOR THE DEAD, OF PIR MUHAMMAD
The season of parting has come up with the wind;
My girl has hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation.
Keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless.
None ever cured the ills of the ill of separation.
There is no one near me noble enough to be told;