The Sign کے بول

A veiled horizon I stumble to and change the train Sing my own praises Don't realize it is insane Nine thin peelings Once so fresh now flaccid skin I try to graze it In vain Burnt in my skin A cruel sign Of your denial You incised in me Drowned in my sins I realized Your childlike Divinity Coarse and defaced Sleeps my gently covered grace And my delusions A portrait of my wild goose chase For alleviation Want animate the wet weeped blaze And can't create it In vain