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“Why is my love for you, dyed in wool? What is the hindrance to moving on? Why in love have I been made a fool? What’s been causing this oblivion? Why is thought of you, ever-present? What’s keeping me from forgetting you? Why is the sight of you magnificent? What’s it you possess than others few? A slow fire burns deep within me, And keeps my curiosity at high I question these puzzles so direly, To philosophy, a pleasure – wry If all life has led me to this point, To make me but a mere proponent Then, from this day to my last moment, Just you and love, are my argument.” — Zubair Ahsan
Why is my love for you, dyed in wool?
What is the hindrance to moving on?
Why in love have I been made a fool?
What’s been causing this oblivion?
Why is thought of you, ever-present?
What’s keeping me from forgetting you?
Why is the sight of you magnificent?
What’s it you possess than others few?
A slow fire burns deep within me,
And keeps my curiosity at high
I question these puzzles so direly,
To philosophy, a pleasure – wry
If all life has led me to this point,
To make me but a mere proponent
Then, from this day to my last moment,
Just you and love, are my argument.