By Nafisa Khushnasib Ghazanfar

If I don’t hold the mountain near,
And fill its heart with love sincere,
If the forest stays so still,
What use is my womanly will?

New buds must rise from soil and vine,
Fresh love must grow, soft and divine,
Life must bloom where shadows stay,
To chase the darkness far away.

I’ll wrap the world in gentle care,
A tender love beyond compare,
And in its hands, so empty, place,
The crimson fruit of my embrace.