The Whispered Secrets

The Walls of lanes slept

Tradesmen have hit the hay

like babies in their cradles

I am left with tears flood

And cheeks seem shoreless,

Straight falling upon dry earth

Yeh! Tears are but who cares!

I am beseeching nights

To find my beloved, left me here;

Till the brim are two goblets filled

In two hands clasped to judge

One owes poison, other wine