No form of flower

It is good if he is punished in his marriage

The flowers that you think are so funny

If dry, the eyes look bad

Will touch your jism and flowers will bloom

We are the artisans of Ishq in city-e-Wafa

In whose hands came I gave a flower,

The stone of his hand is looking for me

Never kiss the flowers of Jhoom ever in the sunlight of the day

Go along with you forever and never go away

If you look at that Hussein then how will you stay

If ever they become flowers then they will become ever more