In your separation every breath a new death did ordain,
But then the glance of your eyes bid me to live again,
Why should i live if i don't have your love,
Living longer i had waited, would have been in vain,
Happily I'd give my life, if i could believe,
Of gloomy nights alone and sad, to whom should i complain,
My interest and my passion too have flowered along with me,
She's on the tip of my tongue when i read, she's on the nib of my pen, when i write about the pain,
And how should i met her, in my dreams, or there's any path?
But the dreams were shattered and paths were washed by rain.