Just as I read the lines of my palm, and declared that love had ended
Providence chose to send me another pair of gloves to be mended
What is heavier than the scent of a rose, what is darker than sleep?
What is sweeter than tears of hope, or blander than wine bartended?
Still you gather mist in your eyes, still you’re burned by the sun and moon!
You still think of dethroning kings: alas, your illusions have still not ended?
Qasim, in public, you act so devout; in private you keep chasing heavens!
After all you’ve been through, keep some shame, even if just unintended!
