As if the counselor for cure is defeated
As if in death, malady has been treated

As if this time heart is hurt anew
Though beloved had oft before retreated

Your loving palm caressing my forehead
Is balm for my soul highly feted

There was this lack of warmth within
Though with an open smile beloved had greeted

The poor live from hand to mouth
The story of poverty is ever repeated

– Parveen Shakir