You're moon keeping her own glow,
Furnishing my deep and dark skies bright.
You're perfection, perfectionist willing to show,
The verse of Ghalib which is always in my sight.
You're those unsung poetry rhymes,
Flourishing my unconscious mind.
People could actually sing you hymn,
A divined composition still gentle and kind.
You are like a chorus of my favourite love song,
The way you utter few words belongs
to the chirping of thousand birds,
Which never sound absurd.