where has the time fled 'fore it's lease? that which should evermore,
soon but forgotten like deceased, by nary rich nor poor;
such lovers' scorn, so undeserved that begs a second chance,
how does one try to comprehend when speaking such parlance?
that which i should have cherished more and chosen to neglect,
apologies and beggings that one day you would come back;
but c'est la vie, that when is lost does this soul yearn the most,
awaiting now drenched in the rain, whilst hunger lies repose.
but abstinence has spread too thin, its value till next year,
a spurned heart's loss placated only by a dull lent ear;
to which we whisper, 'au revoir, 'til next we meet, so long',
and wish we could have made alright the things we had done wrong.
not all is lost, 'tis never late, thus preached by all the saints,
to make amends and cast anew rather than sing complaints;
the old that begs for fresh restore, the new for some reprieve,
as how the soul waits for its fare before the blessed eve.
the harrowed hearts that thought all's lost, now begging to begin,
where are they now? there should be more, what sorrows lie therein?
lest we forget repentance is not for mortals to grant,
not from a king, nor vagabond, nor preacher, nor savant.
yet beg you still, do stay awhile, forgive my sins i plead -
to greet syawal with open hearts, i wish you blessed eid.