Engraved with lines of agony
My palm enshrines a pledge:
The line of faith outstrips
The line of years.
You enquire
How long my love will live.
Teach not love the habit of speech,
For who has yet learnt how to hear?
Love prospers without the wealth of words.
My breath is at the mercy of my body
And can at any time cease.
But the inscription of our love
On the breast of time
Can never be erased.
Hir is no imitation of Laila,
Nor Majnu the model of a Ranjha.
Love does not repeat its story –
Its every page is fresh and unparalleled.
The arrows of anguish
Pierce the palms and the tips of my fingers;
But somewhere on the lacerated fringes
A hope is awakening to life.
This selection is curated by Yamini Krishnan.