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The Withered Rose

O withered rose!

How can I still call you a rose?

How can I call you the longing of nightingale's heart?

Once the zephyr's movement was your rocking

In the garden's expanse joyous rose was your

The morning breeze acknowledged your

The garden was like perfumer's tray by your

My weeping eye sheds dew on

My desolate heart is concealed in your

You are a tiny picture of my

You are the interpretation of my life's

Like a flute to my reed-brake I narrate my

Listen O rose!

I complain about separations!

Explanatory Note1.

The melodious tune of the flute, which is made of reed, is full of feelings, representing the flute's pathos on its separation from the reed-brake, where its origin and homeland is.

This verse is a slightly modified version of the opening verse of \

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Muhammed Iqbal

Muhammed Iqbal. (9 November 1877 – 21 April 1938) was a Muslim poet, philosopher and politician from Punjab, British India, whose poetry in Urdu…

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