Tere Ishq: Mein Ghayal

The Lovely Wound

I have become the madman at your door, the faqir who collects thorns as if they were roses. The world calls it a sickness. I call it ghayali —the holy wound. tere ishq mein ghayal

You are the knife and the balm. You are the one who broke my ribs open, then filled my hollow chest with moonlight. The Lovely Wound I have become the madman

Not by the careless turn of your wrist, or the sharp edge of your goodbye. No—I was wounded by the first sajda of your eyelash. You looked at me, and I bled poetry. and I bled poetry.