Poem Hunter
Just Then
(4 August 1944 / Sialkot)

Just Then

When the moon starts its slow decent
on the broken stairs of night
When the hopes begin to melt in the cold flame of grief,
When the voices begin to drown in the gloomy ocean of heart.
When the seasons slip away, when the butterflies cease to talk,
When living becomes a duty, void of meanings, worthless,
When every passing momentfalls on me like an abuse of life,
When faces vanish in the deep silence of rememrance,
When eyes, heavy with pain, drown in the whirlpool of memories,
When flames die away, when dreams
Begin to scatter,
Just then, if you could walk into
My life, my love.

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