Now strangers wrapped in autumn’s form.
Yet something lingers—faint but true—
A shadow of “me,” a flicker of “you.”
اب اجنبی خزاں کی صورت میں لپٹے ہیں
پھر بھی کچھ باقی ہے—مدھم مگر سچا
میری پرچھائیں، تمہاری جھلک۔
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