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urdu poetry

er wird gegangen
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
die alten Songs
gebildet vom loveliness alleine
ihr schönes Haar
mit dem Sonnenuntergang
weich als das Bett in der Masse
fällt hier kein Licht
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
sie war eine Schönheit an den Tagen
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt

 



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