There is no midway when you are in
love.
In the same way, a midway cannot
exist yet,
in writing a poem. On the way of
becoming a poet,
one cannot actually wear a non-poet's
glove.
When you have a fear of losing, you
lose love.
Back and forth steps create a nowhere
scene.
Being or not being : nothing exists
in between.
The same happens with politics, when
you think of.
Either it sinks you completely, yes
completely, or not at all.
Swimming in love, a glass of
infatuation you cannot drink.
A journey begins the moment your
plans start to scroll;
about returning from a mid-way you do
not even think.
Does one live a half life? However it
ends, it's always full.
It's Khushru's river, to cross it, you
definitely need to sink.
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