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The Wine Remaining Ghazal-12

You have made every thorn Prick us and know our tale. You took us to the wilderness Of madness, and let everybody know.

Our fault was we ate of a grain, And his that he refused to bow. You never pardoned that poor devil, Nor have You yet forgiven us.

A hundred worlds spring up like flowers From our imagination’s soil. There is but one real world; and that too You have made of the blood of murdered wishes.

Like colour the reflection of Your beauty Shines through the glass. You have made of the goblet’s wall A screen for Yourself, just like wine.

O, lay some new foundation, for We happen to like novelty. What is this giddy peep show You have made Of yesterdays, tomorrows and todays?