Memories

You aren’t Rumi’s couplet or Shakespeare’s sonnet, you are Manto’s atrocity.

Those who called you hurricane are oblivious of the fact that you are a drizzle and no one can get enough of you.

Perfection signed his resignation, the day he saw you tucking your hairlocks behind your ears.

The day we hugged, you felt like home. Can I have a little room there?

Don’t worry if all this doesn’t makes sense. After all, love isn’t meant to make sense.