I shall make the words dance br Sing the tunes of the wildest br Sweetest birds that had yet br To be imagined by aesthetes br br The reed and string has yet br Not been struck with that note br The voices the sirens are yet br Preparing for the chorus br br On the torn folds in my bosom br Hidden in many scrolls when br In suspension they shall be held br Of the holy door when I crossed br br To the broken door of beloved br When I hanged my scrolls alone br Alone when my words did hung br In suspension on that door br br She says she shall kiss them twice br And wash them with old wine br See me on the door of my beloved br My rendezvous when I am hanging br My poems first to be read there br 1222009br br Sadiqullah Khanbr br