Ghazal 3

Let this frame be wrapped up in your grace, dear me
Blossom of bosom may carve my face, dear me
 
Beyond knows no lines mortals draw on the sand
In the recesses but lives a space, dear me

Shall ever roses of ravished vale inhale?
When the nightingale loses the lace, dear me

The wealthy heap around the blaze for ages go
A  pulse but for sure shall lose its pace, dear me

The day leaves a leaf to hang on at the night
A seed but never is a disgrace, dear me

Of city other belongs the wings mine two
In east and west the world I embrace, dear me

Mansoor and Majnoon those two moons of the love
Yet on the carpet carries a race, dear me